Persistent Knight
by dferveiro
Summary: Sequel to The Fear of Rome. Tristan strives to survive life at the Wall, and new dangers in the form of foes and crushes.
1. Chapter 1

PERSISTENT KNIGHT

a/n: This takes place two years after _The Fear of Rome_. I recommend reading that first, **but** if you don't feel like it, here's the sum-up: Tristan was saved by Germanius during his battle with Cedric. Germanius takes him to Rome, against Tristan's will. He makes Tristan become an assassin to do his dirty work, and Tristan only goes along because Germanius threatens Arthur and the new Britain. Arthur goes on a diplomatic visit to Rome and sees Tristan. He and the knights try to set him free, but Tristan has to solve things on his own. He returns by himself to Britain, and uneasily settles into life back at the Wall. He's then sent to scout a village and takes on several Saxons. He gets away, along with a girl he rescues and who helps him. The girl, Jaelynn, has a bit of a crush on him, but Tristan goes on with his life—sort of. And then we pick back up in this story. In _Fear of Rome_ I said Jaelynn was 12 or 13—I'm going with the 13 to fit better with the timeline of this story.

-0-0-

-0-0-

The First Snow (Two years after _The Fear of Rome_)

Winter again. The frosty cold had already settled in and the people of Britain were readying for worse. At Hadrian's Wall, where Arthur and his court remained, it was no different. The villagers worked hard to bring in extra food. Arthur and Guinevere were no different—they worked side by side when they didn't have more urgent (or dangerous) matters to attend to. Their son waddled by their side, just a mere infant but with the energy and passion of his parents.

The knights also helped. Aside from the normal duties of protecting the land, life had settled down. Only the occasional skirmish with Saxons, Irish, or rebelling Woads led them beyond the wall. Gawain had a fair maid now, while Galahad still tried his best to find a lady. Bors was by far the busiest, mainly because he lived beyond the wall, in what could best be described as his own village.

Tristan had yet to let go of knighthood. While all the knights still served Arthur and Britain, they sought lives of their own. The scout returned to Sarmatia for awhile, and was gone for several months. It was a nice escape from Britain, but Tristan found life had gone on. His tribe had moved and Tristan found he had no family left.

So he returned to the wall, and adopted his ways. Regardless of the rumors or intelligence about peace, Tristan scouted the land around Hadrian's Wall every week. He was gone for two days each trip.

It was completely unnecessary; the Woads more than helped in protecting the land. Many of their skills rivaled Tristan's own in scouting. But it didn't stop him. The gossip around the Wall always pointed to Tristan's colorful history in Rome, when Bishop Germanius took him there against his will.

"_He's not recovered from it,"_ some would say. _"They made him into a killer. A killer is always alone."_ Tristan ignored this like he always did—besides, he was a killer before Germanius took him. And frankly, with all the peace around the land, he wasn't killing much.

He sat atop his horse, gazing up at the sky. The clouds were moving quickly, heavy with snow. Tonight would be the first snowfall. He frowned, and turned in the saddle to the north. His hawk circled the sky for a moment until Tristan whistled. Then the hawk turned smoothly in the air and glided down to the scout's arm.

"Time to get home," he said to the bird. The hawk pecked once at Tristan's arm. He smiled lightly and nudged his horse along. He was half a day's ride from the Wall, and had four hours before darkness came. The storm would set in before then.

-0-0-

The snow fell without restraint. It was very wet, and it wasn't long before Tristan was soaked. Looking up at the sky, he could see the drops falling too quickly.

"Rain _and_ snow," he muttered. Lancelot always believed that to be a bad omen. Somehow, Tristan imagined that it might still bother the fallen knight, even as the snow and water collected on his grave.

The sky was light even without the sun, which had gone down a couple of hours ago. The moon above the clouds did well to make the whole sky glow. It was a gray, purple hue.

His horse whickered. He shook his mane, throwing excess water on Tristan. The scout smirked at the horse, but he didn't chide him. The snow was a good two inches deep already.

Ahead of him, an estate stood out, lit by a few lanterns. Tristan didn't need the light to know where he was. He was another half hour from the Wall, but his fingers were numb. He would stay the night here—unless his sanity was threatened.

"Seven! Come inside, right now!"

The roar was unmistakable. Tristan chuckled, and his horse snorted as well.

"Who's there!" Bors yelled. Tristan came around the walls of the estate grounds and turned on the front path.

"Eh," Tristan greeted. It wasn't your traditional hello, but it identified Tristan easily.

"Tristan!" That was Seven, actually, but suddenly there was excited bustling from the whole house.

"Who's here, Dad?"

"Tristan!"

"The scout!"

"Well, bring him in, now. He'll freeze out there, stupid scout!" That was Vanora, of course, and Tristan smiled at it. Bors and half the children met him outside the house, and Gilly took the horse to the stable.

"Can I take the hawk?" one of the kids asked, bouncing up and down. Tristan gave his hawk a slight raise with his arm, and the hawk slowly flew.

"If she wants you to," he replied simply. The hawk followed his horse. They would stay warm in the stable tonight.

Bors slapped him on the back, not caring that when he did so a spray of water hit him and the children. A few of the kids shrieked at the cold splash, but giggled and ran indoors.

"Come on in, Tristan," he said jovially. Tristan grunted and followed the children.

The fire in the hearth was going strong. The smell of bread met Tristan's senses and he swallowed. Vanora turned circles in the kitchen, quickly placing a bowl full of soup and a few slices of bread on the table.

"Here, Tristan, get some food—you're soaked!" she exclaimed. She pursed her lips together, and shot Bors a look of death.

"What?" Bors defended. "Of course he's soaked! It's coming down out there!" Vanora put her hands on her hips and gave Bors her best wife-ish glare.

"Then get him dry! I'll keep the food warm." She waved Tristan off. The scout smirked at the constant banter between the two. Marriage hadn't changed their bickering.

Bors pulled Tristan by the arm, and involuntarily the scout stiffened. He allowed himself to be pulled over to the fire but for some reason contact bothered him. Bors didn't notice though.

"What were you doing out so late, eh, Tristan?" the bald knight asked. Tristan shed his cloak and then his coat. His leather and metal-studded armor were damp as well, so he handed that to Bors next. Bors tossed the items by the fire. It wasn't straightened out and would never dry as Bors had it laid, but Tristan would fix it soon.

"Scouting," Tristan answered. Bors laughed.

"Good use of your time," he said. "Why didn't you stop for shelter?" Tristan looked up at him through his dripping braids and hair.

"Why do you think I'm here?"

Bors just laughed again and clapped Tristan on the back again. Tristan hid a scowl. He patted down his tunic, testing it, but it was relatively dry. His pants were wet—his cloak only covered him so well—but he'd have to live with it for now. He turned his eyes on his discarded clothes. He straightened out his armor, laying it flat by the fire. Bors looked on with disinterest. Tristan reached for his cloak but a smaller set of hands beat him to it.

"Hello, Tristan," came her familiar voice. Jaelynn eyed him curiously, and without hiding much excitement. She shook off the water from his cloak and hung it by the fire.

"Jaelynn," he said with a nod. He offered her a quick flash of a smile, the most he'd ever allow—especially her. She'd cooled off her obvious enthrallment with him since they survived the Saxons' capture, but part of that was natural since Bors had taken up this new residence away from the Wall and since Tristan was gone for several months.

"All right, come eat now," Vanora commanded from across the room. Bors shot an amused look between his wife and Jaelynn, and then steered Tristan back to the table.

Tristan rubbed his hands together. They tingled, and he could tell they were cold to the touch. He placed them around the bowl of soup and sighed contently.

"You're supposed to eat it," Bors said. "The slop's not half-bad." Vanora wasted no time swatting him.

"Jaelynn," Vanora started, "be a dear and get Tristan a blanket." The girl nodded and left, flickering a glance at Tristan. The scout looked from the corner of his eye. As soon as she left the kitchen, he started on his soup.

"How is she?" he asked between bites. Vanora sat and pulled Bors down by her. She let out the tired but content sigh of a housewife.

"She's a great help," she said. Bors nodded along.

"Vanora here can't live without her," he said. Vanora snorted.

"That's because you don't help at all." Bors had the decency to look offended. Tristan smiled and dipped a piece of bread in the soup. The food was good, warming his stomach and the rest of his body.

"She'll be sixteen tomorrow," Bors added. Tristan stopped eating mid-bite.

"Has it been that long?" he asked. She was only thirteen when he brought her to the Wall.

"She turned fourteen within a couple weeks of her arrival," Vanora explained. "Two years—it goes by fast."

Jaelynn reappeared then. Her brown hair looked a little neater now, or maybe Tristan just hadn't noticed it before. She offered a demure smile through her thin, pink lips, and stepped closer to Tristan. The scout tensed but did not move. Jaelynn unfolded the blanket from her arms and laid it over Tristan's shoulders. He felt her touch through the blanket, and it made him tense more. Despite his discomfort, he kept his face expressionless.

"Thank you," he mumbled. He took another spoonful of the soup while Vanora eyed the two. Tristan didn't miss her amused grin to Bors.

"Jaelynn, will you get a place ready for Tristan to sleep?" Vanora asked. Jaelynn nodded and turned away dutifully. Bors waited till she was gone before he spoke.

"She'll make you a good wife one day."

Tristan choked on his soup. It sent Bors into fits of laughter that shook the whole house. Vanora swatted at him repeatedly but it was harmless. Tristan could see her smile as well. The scout just grunted and finished his soup.

-0-0-

He ended up sleeping by the fire. Vanora intended for some of the kids to double up in rooms for the night, but Tristan interfered. Vanora didn't press the issue, probably because Tristan spoke a full four sentences to get his point across, and that was always impressive.

The fire went out half-way through the night, and Tristan felt the difference immediately. His eyes opened partially for a second before he grabbed the furs and cloth blankets and pulled them closer around his body.

Sleep reclaimed him. Quickly, dreams came. Memories.

Of Rome. He could see himself sneaking over rooftops, a sharp dagger ready at his side. He'd sneak into an open window or an unsuspecting estate, slip into a room, and slice at a person's throat. He could see the dagger flash in candle light. Gasping—a wet gasp, spraying blood over the victim's throat, and then the gurgling as the blood drowned him.

Tristan grasped for his throat and sat upright. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. It didn't take long—he was a master of control over himself. But Tristan sat amongst the bedding and leaned his elbows over his knees. He pressed the palms of his hands over his eyes. When would it all stop?

He sighed and leaned back against the furs. He stared up at the ceiling, studying the workmanship even though he'd stared at it before on previous visits. After a few minutes, his heart was settled enough to shut his eyes. But sleep wouldn't return quickly.

He lay there and listened to the night. The wind blew through the trees outside and against the side of the home. He could hear the trees swaying and the wind sneaking in through the cracks. Something small and rodent-like scurried in the kitchen. Chills raked his body, either from the cold or the rodent, and Tristan grabbed the furs and covered himself.

The dreams weren't too uncommon. They came frequently, but varied each time. Tristan touched his right shoulder, his fingers finding his scar through his shirt. He didn't know if the dreams would ever stop. He wouldn't complain if they did, but he knew they'd always stay with him.

He figured he deserved it.

-0-0-

He awoke to darkness again, but dawn wasn't far off. The house was still. Tristan rose and dressed quickly. He wanted to leave before anyone woke and made a fuss.

The cloak was dry, but the leather in his armor was still damp. He frowned and put it on anyway. He folded the furs and blankets and set them in a pile on the floor. It was his way of saying thanks, and Vanora knew him enough to appreciate that.

His horse was waiting for him, alert and nudging his saddle as if to berate Tristan for being late. His hawk was gone, probably off hunting already. The bird could eat enough for two grown men sometimes.

Tristan was about to leave the path from the house to the grander land when he heard the front door squeak. He pulled up on the reigns and turned in his saddle. In the predawn light, Jaelynn stood, watching him. She didn't wave, but just waited.

The scout stared back. He nodded and flashed her his lightening-quick smile.

"Happy birthday," he said, barely loud enough for her to hear. But with that, he turned ahead and hustled his horse to the Wall.

* * *

a/n: Please review! I really appreciated everyone's feedback--especially Hessa. I'm eager to continue on this story, but be patient as I may not be able to update more than once a week. I'll try to do more though! Thanks! 


	2. Just Another Day

a/n: Thank you for all the reviews! I really appreciate them, and love to see more! I've noticed some of you are concerned where I'm taking this story in regards to Jaelynn, but just trust me—this will remain a Tristan-centric fic, with some romantic elements from various characters added in. And on to the story:

**Just Another Day**

Gawain cleared his throat loudly, producing a garbled, phlegm sound that made Lucinda, Gawain's gal, cringe. She sent him a chiding glare. Gawain grinned.

The morning chill was in full force even though the sun was up now. Lucinda tried to tip-toe through the snow as she and Gawain took baskets of goods to the market. Lucinda sold food there, and Gawain helped her every morning. It was sweet, and she loved it. It was something she didn't see in Galahad or even Bors—and especially not Tristan.

The knight in question came into the grounds. Tristan galloped by on his horse, and nodded at Gawain. Lucinda tilted her head to the side as he drove by. The man was such an enigma. He moved on to the stables, and Lucinda turned to Gawain.

"He needs a hobby," she said. She put a basket down by her spot at the market. Gawain shrugged.

"He has one—scouting."

Lucinda rolled her eyes. "He needs a _better_ hobby."

-0-0-

Tristan swung the axe over his head and slammed it through the wood. The wood popped and collided on top of a messy pile of logs. Tristan swung again, feeling the familiar pull on his muscles and joints. Sweat covered his arms and torso, and even though he'd dispensed with his coat, his long-sleeve shirt still seemed too much.

He heard the soft footsteps behind him and paused mid-swing to see who it was. Arthur didn't stop, even though he knew he was caught. He offered a modest grin.

"We have enough firewood, Tristan," he said. Tristan grunted. The scout swung the ax overhead and split another log in two. Arthur watched, and when Tristan swung again, Arthur grabbed the handle of the ax mid-air. Tristan struggled for a second before he realized what Arthur was doing. He relinquished the ax with a question in his eyes.

"Tristan." The way Arthur said it, it was half a reprimand and half a friendly remark. Tristan stepped back and put his hands on his narrow hips as he caught his breath.

"What?"

Arthur sighed. "Why do you not rest?" A few flakes of snow fell before his eyes, and Arthur looked up to the sky as if to confirm it. "It's snowing again, and you're out in the cold, gathering a resource we have plenty of."

Tristan clenched his teeth together tightly, and reached for his coat. But Arthur kept going.

"It's like the scouting. We have plenty of scouts from the native Britons, and yet you insist on going," the king said. "Please—rest."

Tristan sighed audibly. "The only rest I need is from everyone's nagging."

Arthur raised an eyebrow and half-smiled. "You were out for two days in a snow storm."

"I came back alive," was the scout's clipped reply. Arthur dropped the ax to the ground and crossed his arms against the cold.

"Why do you feel you must keep this up?" Arthur was getting cross now, Tristan could see. He had that wide-eyed, angry look in his eyes. Tristan hid a smile.

The scout turned to survey the Wall and the village therein. What people he could see were moving indoors—the cold was too much for them. Tristan turned back to Arthur.

"What else can I do?"

Tristan grabbed what logs he'd split, and took them to a storage pile. He could feel Arthur staring after him, puzzled.

-0-0-

The tavern's normal patrons graced the tables and barmaids. Vanora no longer worked here, understandably. She had a brood and household of her own now, and Bors, for whatever he was worth.

Tristan eyed the knife-throwing competition with little interest. Gawain and Galahad still tried their best, and they looked to him for some involvement. He shrugged them away. The game always ended the same way, and he was tired of winning.

He leaned back in a dark corner with his ale, numbly watching the activity around him.

It was a slight figure that caught his attention. A new barmaid, he suspected. He watched her—something was familiar, and he wanted to know why. She moved stiffly from table to table, and the way she ducked her head down and tried to stay out of sight suggested how uncomfortable she was.

Men at one table noticed her as well. One man, the town drunk and womanizer, grabbed her by the elbow. Ale spilled from the pitcher she held, and she gasped as the man forced her to sit by him. As she turned, Tristan saw her face.

He almost dropped his ale.

"Jaelynn," he said. Gawain heard it and looked at Tristan from his target game. But Tristan just stared at the girl. The man held her fast even though she struggled to get free. He leaned towards her face, no doubt trying to steal a kiss.

Tristan stood and crossed the tavern courtyard quickly. The man was oblivious and his hand snaked up Jaelynn's side. The girl looked frightened, but she loudly ordered him:

"Let me go!"

The man just laughed, and that's when Tristan interfered. With lightening-fast movement, Tristan caught the man's hand and pulled it away from Jaelynn's body. He grabbed her with his other hand and whirled her away from the drunken man.

"Leave her alone," Tristan muttered. It was a quiet growl, but it was loud enough to make the entire table freeze. From there, the hush spread. The drunken man pulled his hand away, and Tristan let it go. The drunk stood.

"Stick to your own business, scout," he hissed. He reached for Jaelynn, but Tristan just pushed her behind him protectively. Suddenly a blade nicked the drunk's throat. Gawain stood there, his sword in hand, joining the confrontation.

"She _is_ our business," Gawain said. "And you've had enough for the night." He lifted the sword, forcing the man up and back with its tip. The man glared at the knights, but stumbled away from the table. The knights stayed put, but it was when the man was far enough away to escape that he tried his last jab.

"Assassin scumb."

Tristan stiffened at the words, but he didn't let anything show on his face. The drunk retreated quickly. Tristan let out a slow breath before turning to Gawain.

"Thanks," he said, and Gawain nodded.

"That was fun," he said with a crooked grin. He returned to his table, leaving Tristan with Jaelynn. As if he suddenly remembered her, Tristan whirled around and took her by the arm, leading her from the tavern.

"Tristan," she tried to object, "I have to work!" Tristan led her away from most eyes before he pounced.

"No," he hissed, gripping her arm a little too hard. She winced, and Tristan let up a bit. "What were you doing? Vanora knows you're here?"

Jaelynn's head dropped down, and Tristan had his answer. He headed for the stables, with Jaelynn in tow.

"How'd you get here?" he asked gruffly. Jaelynn still couldn't look him in the eye.

"Walked," she answered quietly. Tristan rolled his eyes and mounted his horse. He lent her a hand and pulled her up behind him. He didn't miss the slight thrill in her eyes.

They rode silently for a good five minutes before Tristan spoke again.

"What were you thinking?" He sighed. "Working in a tavern . . . the men expect certain things from bar wenches."

He felt Jaelynn shrug behind him. "Vanora worked there, and she was fine."

"She's older, and she has Bors. He'd kill any who touched her," Tristan said.

She didn't answer right away, but it didn't take longer either for her to come up with a reply. As she spoke, there was a certain familiar spark—defiance, even—that Tristan recognized.

"I'm sixteen now, Tristan," Jaelynn said. "I can't live off Vanora's charity forever. I'm a woman now."

Tristan snorted.

"Vanora likes having you there, to help." He heard Jaelynn sigh. Her breath tickled his ear, and it made him shiver.

"I need my own life eventually," she said, "and I have to find a way to live."

Tristan huffed. "Warming men's beds at night isn't a way to live."

Jaelynn let out a frustrated screech, making Tristan's horse start a bit. "I worked at the bar! Not as a—"

"They want more than ale, Jaelynn."

"Well, maybe you knights should set a better example and stop taking the _wenches_ to bed." She'd said too much, she knew, but one of Jaelynn's traits lately was not knowing when to shut up. Tristan missed the days when she was a shy survivor of the Saxons' carnage. And she wasn't always like this, but it seemed she had no problem showering her temper and words on Tristan.

There was a good five minutes more of silence, with the crunching of the snow beneath the horse's hooves as the only sound.

"Thank you for stepping in," he heard her say. It was so quiet and meek, quite the change from her flare before. Glancing over his shoulder, the moon showed him a slight blush of embarrassment on her cheeks.

He grunted her thanks away, and spurred the horse faster.

-0-0-

_A Saxon approached him. Tristan eyed him warily, but didn't move. The Saxon backhanded Tristan, who promptly fell with his face to the dirt._

_The group roared with laughter. . . ._

_Suddenly he was grabbed from behind._

_Someone seized him by the hair and yanked his head back. He felt a sharp blade at his neck. The Saxon said something in his guttural language, but Tristan didn't understand. The Saxon said the same words, this time shouting. He couldn't answer, and the Saxon withdrew the knife and pushed him roughly forward._

_Tristan landed on his chest, inches from the fire. He rolled away from it, again amidst laughter. . . ._

_One of the drunken Saxons stood. He clambered over to the villagers, and grabbed the man. Before the man could realize what was happening, the Saxon removed a dagger and slit the villager's throat._

_The girl screamed. Tristan blinked—and the Saxons roared with laughter._

_The villager fell to the earth, blood spilling from his neck. The girl backed away from him. Tristan knew how the eyes of the dead or dying haunted the living. The girl's screams dissolved into wails. They were soft in comparison to the raucous laughter of the Saxons. Tristan's stomach twisted, and he looked away._

_He had to . . ._

What? Help? What good are you? You got captured._ The girl's wailing grew louder, and Tristan looked back to see a Saxon grab her. The Saxon held the sword to her throat as well, but glared at Tristan._

Now what?

_They shouted something at him. It just sounded like grunting and hacking coughs, but Tristan knew they wanted him to speak. He just didn't know what. The Saxon shouted louder and started to press the sword into the girl's skin. Her shriek pierced the air._

Tristan hit the ground. His eyes shot open, and he felt stunned for a brief second before he reached for his sword. But it wasn't at his hip.

Tristan sat up bewilderedly. Looking around, he saw he was in his room—on the floor. No noise sounded, and with a glance at the window, he saw it was still night.

_Nightmare_, he thought. Tristan closed his eyes, annoyed with himself. He sighed and got back on his bed. The memory was yet another thing that haunted him. If only he could have saved Jaelynn's father . . .

He never talked to the man, but Tristan figured seeing a man die at the hands of savage conquerors was enough for him to feel guilty, as if he were a friend. If nothing else, that tragic moment had made Tristan responsible—for Jaelynn.

Realistically, Bors and Vanora looked after her. But the burden of guilt weighed heavily on him. He felt he should do something to make things right for Jaelynn. It was how he felt about his actions in Rome—shouldn't he pay for his actions? All the blood he spilt and life he took?

Maybe that's why he scouted, trying to keep more people safe—the villagers, Woads (or Britons), and any others who found Britain a suitable place. As for Jaelynn, it certainly didn't make things easier for Tristan that she fancied him. Maybe if he reciprocated her sentiment, it would be enough . . .

He shivered, disgusted with the idea. Perhaps it was the protective role he'd assumed of the girl that forbade even the idea from his mind. No matter what it was, Tristan just couldn't consider Jaelynn that way, despite all of Bors and Vanora's hints and jokes.

Or could he? After all, everyone at the Wall whispered behind his back about needing a woman. In Tristan's mind, Jaelynn hardly qualified, but the girl was right. The other women at the tavern were hardly older than Jaelynn—maybe just by a year or two. Vanora started in the tavern when she was fifteen.

Tristan stared at the wooden ceiling, willing his mind to be as blank as his face normally was.

-0-0-

"So Jaelynn told us what you did for her," Bors said to Tristan as Arthur and the other knights found their seats on the round table. Tristan barely looked up from the table.

"Stupid lass," Tristan grumbled. "Going to the tavern alone."

"She needs to start working," Bors said. This made Tristan's head snap up.

"You sent her there?" he asked. Bors quaffed.

"Not there, but she's been talking about finding work," Bors said. The other knights were seated and waiting for them to quiet. "Thanks for watching out for her."

Tristan closed his eyes, recomposing himself. When he opened his eyes, he kept his face blank, and said simply:

"Someone had to."

Arthur cleared his throat before Bors could catch on. The king shot a look to Tristan, and the scout settled back in his chair, his mouth shut as they all were accustomed.

"Knights, word has reached us about strangers in the land," Arthur began. "No one knows who they are, or has even seen them, but tracks have been found around villages."

Galahad and Gawain exchanged looks.

"What if they're passing through?" Galahad asked.

Arthur's expression hardened grimly. "If they were passing through, I'd feel easier. But villagers have reported . . . unease. As if they're being watched."

Gawain snickered at the idea as if it was preposterous, but a look from Arthur silenced him. Gawain sobered up and cleared his throat.

"Where are these villages?" he asked.

"To the north."

"What do you want us to do?" Bors asked. Tristan felt Arthur's eyes on him before he met the king's look. He nodded.

"Tristan," Arthur began, "will scout ahead. See if you can find them, Tristan." The scout nodded at the command, and he couldn't deny he was relieved to have an actual assignment from Arthur. "You should take someone with you."

Tristan shook his head, sending his hair back and forth before his eyes. Arthur's head tilted to the side, his usual sign of contesting.

"It could be dangerous."

"So?" The knights laughed—Tristan would have his way on this one.


	3. The Strangers

**a/n:** Again, thank you for the wonderful reviews! I'm struggling with the next chapter, just getting it written, so bear with me for the next update. I hope you enjoy this one—please review!

**The Strangers**

Nothing felt better than riding out in a crisp morning with a purpose. Tristan felt relaxed as soon as he headed into the woods. Above him, his hawk called out without alarm. It was her morning greeting, and Tristan grinned at it.

Yes, scouting was his life.

He rode for a few hours. The snow had melted somewhat, but there were still patches, especially in shaded areas. Nothing stood out though. Tristan found his mind wandering, going back to his time as a knight in Rome's service. He didn't remember enjoying scouting as much then, but maybe that was because he hated anything he had to do then, for Rome. Not that he complained—he had to deal with it, and complaining like Galahad wasn't his style. Maybe it was that he supported Arthur, maybe even believed in him and this new kingdom. Whatever it was, things were better now.

A stillness settled over the trees, and Tristan pulled up on the reigns. His horse halted immediately, his ears twitching back. Tristan dismounted, and knelt on the ground.

He stayed that way for two minutes, just adapting to the sounds and tone of the forest. The wind picked up a little, making a bit of noise, but it wasn't enough. Tristan scanned the ground in every direction.

Then he saw it—impressions by the tree trunks.

He frowned. The impressions were nearly on the roots, and barely bled over to the patches of snow. Footprints, definitely, but . . . _were they trying to hide by walking so close to the trees?_

Tristan looked around some more, specifically for hoof marks. Instead he found paw prints—a large cat-like animal or wolf, or perhaps be just a dog.

His horse wasn't pleased about being left behind, but Tristan had no choice. If the threat moved on foot, he would too. They couldn't be far. He tightened his belt and sword scabbard, and gathered some arrows and his bow.

-0-0-

He tried using their tracks, walking like they must have. It was difficult and clumsy, but also smart. It hid their numbers—Tristan knew there were at least three, but that was a very low estimate.

He had to be moving faster than they had, since he stopped using their tracks exactly. He followed them deeper and deeper, until he came to an open valley. Tristan knelt within the safety of the treeline. The tracks headed for the field, but he couldn't believe they would go so openly, not after the pain-staking routine in the forest.

"Night," Tristan muttered to himself. _If they crossed at night, they wouldn't worry about being exposed._ He glanced at the sky. It was mid-afternoon. He wondered if he should wait for night as well. If so, he'd be further behind them.

He wasn't keen on waiting right now. Tristan stood and crossed through the frozen, grassy valley. His eyes were on the trodden-down grass path when he heard his hawk. Tristan didn't hold up his arm for her—he needed her eyes still. By her circling, it looked as though no danger was near.

Regardless, Tristan rested one hand on his sword, and clutched his bow in the other.

-0-0-

The tracks picked up on the other side of the valley, right along the tree trunks again. Tristan followed them diligently, but night was falling. The tracks were fading from view.

Suddenly he stopped. The sound of gurgling water rose in the air. He tensed as he realized he knew exactly where the tracks led to. There was a village just beyond a stream—the stream he heard now.

Arthur's words repeated in his mind—_no one has seen them._

_There are tracks around the villages._

_As if someone was watching them._

His stomach growled. Tristan rolled his eyes. Now was not the time.

He ignored the tracks and moved deftly through the trees until he came to the stream. He stayed put for another two minutes and then crept across the water, ignoring the freezing cold.

He snuck a drink from the stream before he disappeared back into the trees. Ahead, there was light from the village. If the strangers were watching this village, they would be around Tristan's vantage point. He felt uneasy, and it wasn't just because of the cold water dripping from him.

With the graceful agility of a cat, Tristan climbed a tree. He transferred his bow and arrows to one hand, and managed his way up. The bubbling stream covered any noise he made. He positioned himself on one tree limb, pressing his body against the main trunk and keeping his bow in hand.

Arthur hadn't said anything about killing these strangers—obviously, it remained to be seen if they were hostile. Tristan certainly didn't trust them, though.

He spent the night in the tree, tired but alert. It was a familiar paradox for him, one he had to reconcile constantly.

Suddenly a twig snapped. Tristan's eyes darted towards the noise. Darkness . . .

Another twig snapped, this time on the other side of him. He could see them. . . .

The figures were large, definitely men. Fifteen of them so far. In the moonlight, their strange apparel was easily noticeable. Tristan wasn't sure where they were from—he recognized one wearing a helmet that looked Saxon, but another man looked like a far easterner. Another looked . . . _Roman?_

They had come from the west. Tristan wondered if they'd circled around the village. _Why?_

The village was small, easy to take but without a reason . . . it wasn't a wealthy village by any means. The men gestured to each other without speaking. Tristan saw they carried weapons. He gripped his bow tighter.

Suddenly, the easterner looked up. Tristan froze. Not moving was key in hiding your position, but Tristan swore the man was looking right at him. The moonlight reflected off the man's teeth—he grinned!--but the easterner did nothing. He waited for several seconds.

_He's waiting to see what I'll do._

The easterner signaled to his varied men, and the group moved off. A wolf ran among them, larger than most, but quieter too. The wolf growled until the easterner swatted it. Tristan held still as they moved on.

They headed southwest.

-0-0-

Tristan couldn't fathom why the man had not raised any concern when he saw him. Had he even seen Tristan? The scout was nearly sure but it still made no sense to his mind.

He took a hurried pace back through the forest and across the valley. He ran through the night, and reached his horse about mid-day. Tristan rode hard back to the Wall.

The guards on duty over the Wall relayed his return throughout the fort. Arthur waited for him as Tristan reached the courtyard. Tristan felt the eyes of the villagers on him. He followed Arthur back to the round table, but couldn't shake that watchfulness from the people. In some ways, it was better than before—they weren't talking behind his back or judging him with rumors. They were worried. Word must have leaked about the strangers.

The torches were lit throughout the Wall and fort. Tristan savored the heat from each torch as he passed it. His fingers were numb again, but at least he had dried off from the stream.

"Tell me," Arthur commanded as soon as they reached the round table. Tristan stood near a torch, rubbing his hands near the flames.

"Fifteen men."

"Saxons?" Arthur pressed. Tristan shook his head.

"Only one. I don't know who they are," he admitted. "There was an easterner, a Roman, . . . all different."

Arthur frowned.

"Why would such diverse men travel together?"

Tristan didn't have an answer. "They circled around a village north of here, but did nothing else."

Arthur sighed. He sat heavily in his chair, and Tristan could see the redness in his eyes. The king had been concerned for the last two days.

"There's something else," Tristan said. He withdrew his hands from the torch's heat and crossed his arms. Arthur nodded at him to continue. "He saw me."

The king sat up straight. "Who?"

"The easterner."

"You're sure?" Arthur asked. "And he did nothing?" Tristan bit down on his tongue.

He nodded.

"Take some rest," the king said. "I'll have some food sent in. The knights are in the tavern. I'll call for them to join us."

Arthur left Tristan, who sat down and started shivering. Now that he'd made it back and relayed what he could, the cold caught up with him. He hoped whatever food Arthur ordered was hot.

He must have closed his eyes too long. Bors came in with the others, and his loud, booming voice made Tristan jump. The knights snickered at that, and even Arthur looked sadly amused.

"Stay a little longer, Tristan," Arthur said. "I know you are weary, but hopefully we can reach a decision quickly." Tristan shot a glare at the king before straightening up.

"What decision?" came one voice. Tristan sat a little straighter. Guinevere entered the room, with two Woads in tow. _Britons,_ Tristan corrected himself. Arthur was ever trying to unite the people, and referring to everyone as Britons was one of his ways. The two with Guinevere were her councilors. The knights were Arthur's, though he did interact frequently with Merlin and others.

"Tristan found the men that have been watching the villages," Arthur filled in. "A group of fifteen men of varying lands. They have not touched the villages, but I think we all feel something is wrong." He looked particularly at Tristan. The scout nodded.

"Where did they go?" Gawain asked.

"Southwest."

Silence filled the room. The knights and Britons looked to each other.

"You realize that could bring them here," Guinevere said. Her eyes bore into Tristan, and he felt a little annoyed by it.

"Why do you think I rushed back?"

"We ride out to meet them," Arthur declared. He directed a look at Guinevere's councilors. "Gather thirty men. We leave—"

"Father! Father!"

It was a young voice, and it came down the hall, rushing towards the council room. The knights stirred, and Bors stood expectantly. His son, Gilly, pushed his way past the doors and ran straight to the knight.

He was covered in dirt and soot.

"They took them!"

Tristan felt his blood freeze. Bors held his favorite son.

"What!"

"Men. They attacked us," Gilly said, his voice palpitating in his panic. "They took Vanora and Jaelynn!"


	4. A Plan of Action

**a/n:** Okay, so here we go again. There are certain characters you don't see in this chapter, but don't worry—we'll see them soon enough. Please review! I really appreciate all the encouragement and feedback I'm getting, and they act as nice reminders for me to move along on this story.

**A Plan of Action**

Tristan followed quickly after Bors as they rode to the knight's estate. Smoke was in the air, and they were near now—Tristan could see the remnants of flames.

Bors yelled out his war cry as he came down the path to the house. It evolved to a cry of desperation!

"Eight! Seven!" he called out. He dismounted and drew his sword. The rest of them dismounted as well, but Tristan stayed atop his horse and didn't draw any weapon. The attackers weren't here anymore.

The knights and Britons spread out, Arthur and Guinevere as well. They seemed to focus on how to enter the smoldering house, and judging by the horror in their eyes, they assumed the children were in there.

Tristan heard whimpering, but not from the house.

"Bors," he called out. The bald knight turned quickly, ready for anything. Tristan nodded at the stables. Bors ran faster than he had for any battle and threw open the stable doors.

The children spilled out, hugging one another and clutching to their father. Guinevere and a few of the soldiers cared for them, but Tristan's mind was elsewhere.

He focused on the trees. Turning his horse, he galloped away from the estate and to the treeline.

"Tristan!" Arthur called after him. Tristan kept going.

Beyond the walls of the estate, he could feel it. That unease that every villager had complained about. That chill that started at Tristan's neck and tingled down to the hairs on his arm.

They were out there.

Horse hooves galloped against the ground behind him. A glance over his shoulder showed it was Arthur.

"Tristan, what is it?" he asked, trying to catch his breath. Tristan faced the trees, and with one fluid movement, unsheathed his sword.

"They're watching."

Tristan's horse reared up, eager to enter the forest. Tristan nudged him forward. Arthur suddenly cut him off, blocking his path with his own horse.

"No," he said with that commanding voice that Tristan hated sometimes. The scout's eyes flashed angrily, but Arthur held his ground. "Not now. We have to think this through. And we should wait for daylight."

Tristan rolled his eyes, but Arthur didn't see it under the scout's bangs and in the darkness.

"They'll get away," the scout reasoned.

"You can catch up with them again," Arthur said. It was final, and they both knew it—but if Tristan could actually see them, he wouldn't stop.

Tristan followed the king back into Bors' estate. There was much to be done.

-0-0-

The children were fine, albeit frightened. Between Bors' roaring and desire to kill anything in his path, and the general restlessness among the knights and soldiers, the whole fort was frightened.

The part that frightened Tristan was the message that all the children relayed:

"Don't follow."

This, of course, sent Bors into another fit that had his own kids shrinking away. Tristan stayed away from him for now, and found some reason and calm from Gawain. The two knights stood side by side, watching the growing council Arthur gathered. It was late into the night now, and despite his own weariness after scouting, Tristan was wide awake.

"They only took the women," Tristan observed. Gawain grunted.

"There were some girls left."

"I said women," Tristan reemphasized. Gawain paused and looked to the scout.

"Jaelynn and Vanora," he said. "The only two who appeared old enough for . . ." Gawain's face reddened as he considered the conclusion Tristan had already reached. The knight cleared his throat. "Do you think they've harmed them? Bors will kill them all—"

"Not yet," Tristan said. "They'll move fast. No time for anything more." That did little to settle Gawain. In truth, it hardly settled Tristan. It only gave him a short window to find the women. Now more than ever, he hated that Jaelynn was actually a woman. He wished she were only 13 again, and too short to catch any man's eye. Better yet, he wished he'd killed the strangers as soon as he came across them, regardless if he was only supposed to scout.

"Knights, Britons," Arthur called. The gathering quieted and settled in. "These marauders must be found, and quickly. We must bring back Vanora and Jaelynn. I am in need of your council in how to do this, considering the threat that they've made."

Immediately an uproar arose; man after man voiced his opinion, more anger than intelligence, and Tristan found himself sighing. He already knew the plan to adopt. From across the room, he stared at Arthur.

It took two minutes until Arthur noticed with all the noise. The king looked back at the knight, confused at first. Slowly, Tristan offered a cold smile. It was enough, because Arthur started to shake his head.

"No." He must have said it, but Tristan only saw the king's lips move from across the room. "Quiet!" His shout shut up the entire room. "We will accomplish nothing like this."

Rumbles of discontent moved through the men, Bors especially.

Tristan called out.

"Arthur."

All eyes were on him now.

"No, Tristan," Arthur said. He turned to all the men, ignoring the scout. "Whatever we do must be quiet. I'm asking—"

"Arthur," Tristan said again. "It's the best way. You know it."

"What?" Bors asked, his interest piqued. "What's your plan, Tristan?" The scout flickered a glance to Arthur, fully expecting some objection. He was right.

"His plan is not an option," Arthur interjected.

"My wife is out there, Arthur," Bors said, rising to his feet along with his temper. "Any option sounds good to me. We're all pissing away her life, talking here instead of hunting those bastards down!" He pounded his fists on his chest. "I'm going now, with or without a plan!"

"Bors—" Arthur tried.

"No." The word came from Tristan, and it spun Bors around wildly. The bald knight looked like he would run Tristan through. "You're not going."

"Yes I am—"

"You have a whole brood of kids who need you," Arthur spoke up. "I won't allow them to be orphans if things turn for the worst."

Bors turned so red, the others stepped back. Tristan crossed to his side and laid a calming hand on his shoulder.

"I'll find her," he vowed quietly. Turning to Arthur, he pressed his case. "Send me and Galahad. Any more would alert them."

Galahad was surprised when he heard his name, but he nodded solemnly at Bors and Arthur.

"I'll go," he pledged. Tristan turned to Arthur, and grinned when the assenting nod was given.

"But Tristan," Arthur said, and for a brief moment, made Tristan halt, "come back quickly, and in one piece." His eyes bore into the scout, and Tristan knew what his king was asking.

Arthur didn't want any repeat of his disappearance in Rome.

-0-0-

"I have to admit, I'm surprised Arthur would let just the two of us go," Galahad said loudly as they rode through the first edges of the forest. Tristan rolled his eyes, annoyed already.

"He expected me to want to go alone," Tristan said.

"Oh. Well, then I'm really surprised you chose me to come with you," Galahad continued. "Two is good though—watch each other's backs."

Tristan pulled up suddenly on his reigns and looked intently into the trees and brush. Galahad shut up quickly and stopped as well. The scout dismounted.

"Get down," he whispered. Galahad obeyed, his hand on his sword.

"What is it?" the younger knight asked. Tristan kept his eyes ahead. He frowned, grim.

"I need you to return to Arthur." Galahad balked at that. "He'll know why."

"What? But why—"

Tristan whirled around to the knight, withdrawing his dagger as he moved. He brought the butt of the knife down hard on Galahad's head. Galahad crumbled, his eyes fluttering with a faint look of betrayal before he lost consciousness altogether.

"Sorry, Galahad," Tristan said. "Two is too many." He tied the knight's horse to a low branch of the nearest tree, mounted his own horse, and took off into the woods.


	5. Assassin's Hunt

**a/n:** Okay, this is a LONG chapter, or at least it took a long time for me to write it. But I hope it moves well enough for you all to enjoy. Please continue sending me your feedback—I always look forward to it. I'm trying to respond to everyone too, but if I haven't, forgive me!

Thanks!

**Assassin's Hunt**

"He'll come."

Jaelynn had said it a dozen times already, and now it came out whispered and nearly feverish. Vanora glanced at her. The girl appeared strong enough, but the shock of the situation was wearing her down more than the constant walking.

"Jaelynn," Vanora called softly. The men who'd taken them did not want noise, but they had not chastised her yet for trying to comfort the girl. Jaelynn looked over. "How are you feeling?"

The girl's light brown hair fluttered in the wind, and it half covered her pale face. The girl wasn't normally so pale. Her eyes were unfocused, and she struggled as she breathed.

"He'll come, won't he, Vanora?" The hope in her eyes barely offset a measure of delirium. Vanora turned to the man behind her. She ignored his mean scowl and sharp sword.

"She's falling ill," Vanora said, her bound hands raised slightly in her defense. "Can we stop?"

The man said nothing, but turned to an eastern-looking man. His eyes were like thin, slanted slits, and they stared harshly into Vanora. His gaze was as sharp as she imagined the sword that hung at his side. It was curved dramatically, and did well in intimidating.

"We stop," he said. His voice twisted unfamiliarly around the language, but Vanora felt relief just the same. "Quick."

Vanora took Jaelynn by the hand and led her to sit down against a tree trunk. The wolf that was with the men circled the women twice before being called off by their captors.

Jaelynn didn't object at all to Vanora's treatment—something else that worried the red-head. Vanora put her hands to Jaelynn's face, pressing the back of her hands on her cheeks and forehead. She combed back a bit of Jaelynn's hair, and stared into her eyes. Suddenly, Jaelynn stared back, her eyes alert and lively.

"Do you think he'll come?" she asked, a sparkle in those brown eyes. Vanora was confused—baffled even.

"Tristan?"

Jaelynn nodded.

"I'm sure they all will," Vanora said, trying to be calm about the constant question and also the girl's odd behavior. Jaelynn showed a smile, but her eyes flickered to the men, and her smile was hid away.

"Good," she said. She dropped her voice to barely a whisper. "Then if I am ill, it will slow them down for Tristan to find us." And just like that, Jaelynn's eyes resumed their dull luster and her breathing became labored again.

Vanora's eyes widened, and she held her hand up to the girl's face again just to be sure. Then it hit her. Jaelynn was faking it all.

Vanora barely contained a grin.

"Good girl."

-0-0-

The nice thing about the way Tristan felt right now was that he knew for sure it meant trouble. He felt something was wrong, like he was being watched. Before Rome left, that was easily attributed to the Woads. In the last two years, he had rarely felt that way. And now, the signal was as clear as a war cry.

But he couldn't see anyone. He looked to the sky, but his hawk wasn't above. _Probably eating again._ He had followed the tracks so far, and he could tell from the snowy impressions that two extra people were with the intruders. That gave him a small measure of hope for the women. But it still didn't shake what he felt.

_Are they waiting for me to follow?_ Tristan frowned and urged his horse onward. That made no sense—they would want to escape as quickly as possible.

Something snapped to the right of the scout. It whizzed through the air and Tristan leaned back in the saddle, nearly horizontal, to dodge whatever it was. His eyes followed it till it slammed into a tree on his left.

Tristan froze, staring at the arrow. That's when he saw the twine attached to the end of it.

Branches cracked above him, and as he looked up, he saw a net full of wood fall towards him. Tristan dove off the side of his horse. His body hit the ground but his foot stayed caught in a stirrup. His horse neighed out in alarm, and jumped as the wood and net fell.

Pieces hit the horse, and then Tristan as he rolled awkwardly while his horse dragged him. The scout held his arms over his head, but that didn't stop the wood from hitting him hard.

All the wood rigged had fallen, but the horse was still spooked. Frantically he moved, still dragging Tristan.

"Eh!" the knight called out, but the horse continued his erratic movement. Tristan kicked his foot side-to-side until he freed it from the stirrup. His arms were sore—bruises were forming beneath dirty impact marks from the wood. His legs were sore as well, but he didn't have time right now to consider that.

His horse was limping. Its front right leg was raised, curled protectively beneath the steed's body. The horse eyed Tristan, and neighed uneasily. Suddenly the horse fell, completely on its side with a loud thud.

Tristan scrambled to its side. With one look, he knew the problem. The horse's leg was hurt. There was no obvious break, and that gave Tristan some peace, but there was some swelling. Tristan gently felt each leg and examined the horse for further injuries. Aside from a few scratches, he seemed all right. It was possible for the horse to live.

But he couldn't care for it. He caressed the horse's neck and whispered encouragement in its ears. Jols would know what to do, and the horse knew its way home. It would be slow since the horse would have to travel injured and probably favoring the leg, but as long as the horse made it back . . .

Tristan searched his things for parchment, but he wasn't writing when he scouted. Such a thing was impractical for him. He picked up a piece of wood, and then his dagger. Pressing hard with the dagger, he etched a message on the piece, and then tucked it on the horse's saddle.

"Go home, friend," Tristan said softly. He patted the horse one more time, and turned back to the trail. He had to move quickly to keep up.

-0-0-

His pace was steady but more cautious than before. He hated to admit it but his mishap was partially due to his blind eagerness. He'd been intent on finding Jaelynn, and had assumed tracking the men would be as before . . .

Tristan stopped. A step ahead of him, cleverly hidden by twigs and snow, was another piece of twine. The scout followed the line with his eyes, up a tree and seeing another trap. This one was just a net—no wood branches to crush him—but the net was laced with gleaming pieces of metal.

He frowned, side-stepped the trip line, and moved on.

The cry of his hawk caught his attention. Tristan's head snapped up as the bird descended between the thick trees and limbs. Tristan held up his arm for the bird. But she didn't land. Instead she circled close to him, and then flew off again to the right.

Tristan glanced at the tracks before him. They moved off to the left. He sighed, shutting his eyes. He blocked out all noise and sight, and slowly breathed in and out. Gradually, he allowed his senses back in. His tracking skills told him to follow the path. But instinct mattered more, and while he struggled to just find the women logically, he didn't dare ignore instinct if it would get him to the women quicker. It came down to a memory—

Being back in Rome, feeling a rush as he'd just killed some innocent fool, and waiting for the rush to subside and the eerily cold calm to settle in and guide him. It wasn't just a regular sense for Tristan.

It was an assassin's instinct. Impersonal. Animalistic.

He opened his eyes, and followed after the hawk.

-0-0-

Jaelynn saw the way the men eyed the women. It was like that drunk at the tavern, but cooler. So far, they hadn't mishandled her or Vanora. They were controlled.

She wondered how long it would last.

But she couldn't believe that's why they'd taken the red-head or herself. Men such as these—warriors, raiders—didn't just steal women from their home and so near a military fort with no reason.

Vanora stared at her, her eyes only moving away to navigate the uneven ground. Jaelynn coughed, as sickly as she could make it sound. She dragged her feet and stumbled over a rock.

Behind her the large wolf snarled. She squeaked when its breath hit her heels.

"Move," the easterner commanded. He seemed to be the leader. Jaelynn picked up her pace with another cough. She noticed Vanora almost glared at her, her way probably to say 'don't push it.'

Jaelynn knew it was necessary though. How else could she help Tristan? Or Vanora, or herself? He would come, and sooner if she delayed the captors.

He was one person she could always count on. When she first met him, Tristan had proven that. He promised he would come back for her when he went to face the Saxons, and even more, he had risked his own life to free her from their grasp. It's partially why she returned back then to help him escape as well.

Those first days and weeks that she knew the scout were precious to her. Instead of lingering on the death of her father and entire village, she found hope in the knight and her new life at the Wall. Every now and then she would think back about her past life, but it only served to make her sad. Jaelynn could see her father being butchered, his throat slit right before her.

_And Tristan, watching, bound, immobile but not helpless._ A faint smile, weighed down by sorrow, came to her face. She would always miss her father, her family. But her future was with the scout, Arthur, the knights, Vanora . . .

Distracting herself from the current circumstances, Jaelynn thought back to just the other night, when Tristan rescued her—again—from the drunk at the tavern. Had he been jealous? She knew he was always concerned about her safety, but perhaps there had been more to it than that. He was a hard one to read, even for her. But she knew him better than most, and he spoke to her more than most. That was special, she knew.

Night was falling again, and the marauders stopped. Jaelynn glanced at Vanora, who quickly made use of the time to rest against a tree. The red-haired woman raised her bound hands to dab her face. Jaelynn looked down to her own bound hands. The ropes were thin, but the twine was strong. Jaelynn had repeatedly tested them, rewarding herself now with raw wrists.

She sighed, and threw in another cough for good measure. The easterner glared at her, and Jaelynn pretended to cover the sound with her hands.

One of the other men, the one who looked Saxon, said something to the eastern leader. Jaelynn didn't understand it, but the Saxon grinned in her direction—and it wasn't a pleasant expression. Jaelynn moved to Vanora's side.

"Why did they take us, Vanora?" she whispered. Before the women, three or four of them men started to talk back and forth. They were arguing, but keeping their voices low. Vanora kept her eyes on the men.

"I don't know," she said. Jaelynn picked up on the hollowness of her words, and took that to mean it would be better off not knowing. Suddenly, the easterner drew his sword. He held it high above him, as if ready to strike. He turned around, facing each man with his dark eyes glowering at them all.

"We rest," he said for all to understand. "One hour."

Jaelynn scooted closer to Vanora. The Saxon was eyeing them both now, as well as a strange man in studded armor. This man had a scar from one side of his forehead to the other, and he seemed less friendly than the Saxon, if possible. Jaelynn felt Vanora huddle her in closer.

The easterner sheathed his sword and picked a spot to rest near the women. His dark, oval-shaped eyes stared daringly at his men. One by one, they found their own resting places, except for the Saxon, who appeared to be the night watch.

Jaelynn couldn't help but stare at the easterner. Surprisingly, he wasn't staring back. His attention was on the Saxon, and then each of his men.

_He doesn't trust his own men._

Something told Jaelynn that didn't bode well for her or Vanora.

"Why did you take us?" she asked. Vanora jabbed her elbow in her ribs, but it was too late. The easterner heard. He glared at the women, more so on Jaelynn. He turned his attention back to the men before answering.

"A message," he said. Jaelynn opened her mouth to ask more, but Vanora nudged her again. The easterner sharply turned to the two women. "If you're trouble, I give you to my men."

Jaelynn's breath caught in her throat. She felt Vanora place an arm around her protectively. Across the woods, the Saxon cleared his throat loudly and looked their way. Jaelynn sank back closer to Vanora.

-0-0-

Gawain grew tired of the knights very quickly in the last day. All Bors did was roar and test Arthur's orders. The man wanted nothing more than to go out and slaughter anything in his path. Luckily, Arthur wasn't that annoying. However, Gawain wished Bors would just slaughter Galahad.

The young knight was being just as bad, although his whining stemmed from a sense of betrayal from Tristan. He had reason to be angry—they all did, what with Tristan going out and being reckless again. But Gawain felt more stupid than angry. Of course Tristan would go out and try to save Jaelynn himself. It wasn't for glory, which was Galahad's current accusation. Gawain knew Tristan well enough that going into a fight alone like this wasn't about glory, or even honor. The scout's going alone was the stealthiest and quickest way to catch up and rescue Jaelynn and Vanora.

"Stupid scout hit me when I least expected it," Galahad mumbled as he and Gawain sat outside the council room, waiting for Arthur to emerge from a talk with Bors and some Britons. Gawain cast his eyes upward, willing a strike of lightning to silence his friend's grumbling.

"Of course he hit you when you least expected it," he said. "That was the point."

Galahad muttered something, but it was lost in his thickening facial hair.

"Oh, shut up, Galahad," Gawain said flat out. The young knight slammed his hand on the table, but Gawain didn't even jump at it.

"When we catch up to him, I'm going to—"

"What? Tristan could always best you, and nothing's changed about that in seventeen years," Gawain cut him off. "Besides, we're not going after him."

Galahad stared at him.

"Arthur knows Tristan is the best to do this. If we follow, we ruin his advantage," Gawain explained. "Tristan will find them, and then alert us if he needs us."

Galahad's eyes darkened as he stared blindly at nothing.

"Fine. Let him slaughter as he wants anyway."

Gawain turned abruptly to face the knight, who kept on going.

"Then maybe he'll relax, after killing his quota." Galahad smirked at his own thoughts, and didn't see Gawain's fist coming until the impact sent him to the floor. The young knight's face rapidly turned red, and he pursed his lips the way he always did before he was about to explode. Gawain stood over him, his eyes blazing enough to warn Galahad not to move.

"I thought you'd made your peace with Tristan," Gawain said, "though it looks like you've gone back on it. But don't you ever beat that man down. He's had enough for a lifetime of Sarmatian knights."

Gawain swallowed, willing himself not to spit at his friend. He waved his hand at the knight on the ground, fed up with him, and turned away.

Suddenly he stopped and turned back. Galahad's face still bore anger, but still he didn't move.

"He doesn't need anymore hurt from his own friends."

Gawain left him, and entered the council room, not caring if he interrupted.

Arthur looked sharply to the door as he entered, but then waved him in. The king, Bors and the Britons were all standing.

"Gawain," he greeted grimly. "We were just going to the courtyard. Evidently, Tristan's horse has just returned." Before Gawain could ask, Arthur added, "Just the horse."

Gawain's mind was a flurry of thoughts and speculations, but he wouldn't let himself worry. He wondered how long that would last. When it came to Tristan, any little thing would make him worry when he was out. If the scout was gone too long on an ordinary trip, Gawain had trouble sleeping. He had seen Arthur himself pacing the wall, waiting for the knight to return.

He huffed. The most deadly and capable of them all, and yet they worried about Tristan much more.

The horse was hurt, that much was obvious. The knowledge did little to calm Gawain. Jols gently led the horse into the stables, his voice emitting soothing tones. The horse hobbled on three legs towards its stall.

"Where's Tristan?" came a higher but grave voice. Guinevere entered the stables, her young son in her arms. Her eyes were wide and dark, and she looked to Arthur for news.

"Arthur," Jols called out. The horse was waiting for the saddle to be removed, but Jols had stopped. He held a piece of wood in his hands. Gawain noticed the man was smiling as he handed the wood to Arthur.

From where he stood, Gawain could see etchings on the wood. Slowly, Arthur sighed.

"Stubborn man," he muttered. He looked to the other knights and his wife. "Tristan's fine. He's still following the marauders."

"He must have sent the horse back on its own," Gawain filled in. Arthur nodded. Galahad came in and settled by Gawain's side. "What now?"

Arthur looked to Bors, who was oddly quiet, and then to his wife. Gawain knew the look on his face when Arthur turned to Guinevere. It was the look he felt himself giving Lucinda when he needed support.

"We wait."


	6. One by One

**a/n: **Sorry! This week was completely nuts, and I just didn't get around to writing until today. Thank you for your patience! Let me know what you think of this chapter. The next one will be quite fun too, and I'm working on it now. Enjoy!

**One by One**

Tristan hit the ground, a little harder than he intended but he didn't dare risk being seen. The snow was muddied as it began melting a bit in the early daylight, and the leaves and dirt mixed in added no comfort to the cold, wet ground. Tristan kept his body against the earth though, and slowly moved his head to one side to get a better look.

The marauders were just ahead of him. They were moving at a steady pace, and their steps were purposeful but stealthy. Tristan noticed they no longer moved close to the tree trunks. Maybe it was that they thought they were far enough from danger.

_And they would have been._ Tristan was glad he trusted his hawk. At the pace they were going, he didn't know how he'd caught up with them so quickly except that they must have turned and changed course. His hawk had saved him precious time.

Tristan tensed when he saw the women. Vanora looked weary, and Jaelynn about the same. The two women kept close together. Their hands were bound, and from where he lay Tristan could see their raw wrists.

He clenched his fists.

The easterner walked close to him, and his hand rested on the hilt of his curved sword. Tristan turned his attention to him. Why, he wondered, did this man take Jaelynn and Vanora? He didn't seem . . .

Tristan frowned. The easterner had seen him in the woods a couple of days ago, and he'd been seen by the marauders, and yet, only after did they move. _And the watching . . . _What made them wait?

They had to have been gathering information, for whatever their purpose now. Tristan scowled at the group, frustrated by his ineptitude with the mystery.

The women looked tired, but not terrified. That eased Tristan. Maybe they were relatively unspoiled. Jaelynn looked over her shoulder, back the way they'd come. Her eyes searched, but Tristan stayed hidden. He didn't trust her enough to not give away his advantage.

One of the men barked at her, and Jaelynn hurried her pace. The same man turned back towards Tristan. The scout didn't move at all, but he could see the man was considering coming his way.

A long growl sounded as the wolf he'd seen before came bounding up to the party. He went directly to a man with a scar over his forehead, and then turned and stopped. The wolf growled again.

Tristan retreated behind a cluster of trees, and drew his knife. Peeking from behind the trees, he saw the wolf's owner gesture to the woods, and the wolf took off. _I'm too close._ When the wolf found him, it'd be over at this proximity. Tristan glanced at the animal. It was searching the ground, sniffing rapidly. The marauder with the scar watched it, and Tristan used the brief moment to climb to the trees.

The wolf made its way closer and closer. The man with the scar motioned for the Saxon of the group to follow it.

Tristan waited.

There was a delicate balance he had to maintain when he killed in Rome. It was the need to kill swiftly and without drawing attention. When two targets came into play, it was even more necessary to kill both targets as quickly together so neither could escape and alert others.

Hence, his situation now. Tristan considered his options. He leaned against the main trunk of the tree and crouched on a high branch. His knife was in hand, and his bow hung from another branch. Tristan sheathed the knife, and grabbed the bow. He pulled two arrows and notched them tightly together.

The wolf stopped below the trees, sniffing in a circular pattern. The Saxon grumbled at it, though Tristan wasn't sure what he said. He just waited for the Saxon to get close enough to the wolf—

Suddenly the wolf sniffed closer to the tree, and got on its hind legs as he sniffed higher on the trunk. Tristan smiled.

And then he released the bow string.

-0-0-

The easterner stopped walking, and glanced over his men. One was missing, and he wasn't the only one to notice. His eyes met that of Korab, a tall pale man from the a large desert land south of Rome. His trademark scar across his forehead often intimidated, but for that very reason, the easterner found him useful. That, and he held his own. He was formidable enough to face 10 men.

Korab turned his head to the direction they'd traveled from, and then looked back at him. The easterner frowned.

Their Saxon comrade hadn't returned. And neither had the wolf. The easterner snapped his fingers at one of his men, a Spaniard.

"Go."

The women stared at him, confused.

"Move," he ordered before they could understand what was happening. As they moved on, the easterner wondered if someone was following, and if so, who.

Arthur, or his men, he assumed. But they'd not seen anyone. He expected that to change. And when it did, he would make them pay—for the Saxon, if he was dead, and for everything else.

-0-0-

Tristan was more careful to keep his distance. He stayed about a mile behind, and never within sight. The marauders would know someone was missing soon. They would look for the man, try to find him. Tristan planned to prevent that.

One of them came into view ahead. His sword was drawn, and he paid avid attention to the tracks on the ground. Every few seconds, his eyes would sweep the area, and then focus again. Tristan drew an arrow to his bow.

He drew the tense string back to his ear, and held his position. Nothing moved around him except his target, and though his arm was aching now from his poise, he waited. He had to make sure the marauder was far enough away from the others, and close enough to him so he could finish the kill quickly if it wasn't instantaneous already.

He let go, and the arrow shot ahead and slipped into the man's skull.

No need for any follow-through.

Tristan walked calmly to the body. The man wore nothing that claimed him to one country or another. He looked tan, and had dark hair, but could easily pass as a Roman if he wanted to. _From one of the provinces_, Tristan thought. He eyed the man's sword, a shorter blade than most but good for close contact.

_For all the good it did him,_ the scout thought smugly. Tristan slung his bow over his shoulder, and picked up his pace.

It started snowing again. The clouds covered up the sun, but sent only flurries down to the earth. Tristan shook them from his hair. He saw something above him and glanced up. His hawk circled above him, her manner very lackadaisical. The marauders were still ahead of him then, and not changing course.

Where were they going? Were they fleeing the island? He didn't care to find out what would happen to the women if they did. Tristan planned to whittle the marauders down, one by one, until it was prudent to rescue the women.

_You shouldn't wait like this._ Vanora and Jaelynn were just ahead of him, and 13 men hadn't stopped him in times past. If Bors were here, he would have already charged into the fray. But not Tristan. He wanted to get the women back, but something was wrong. He felt the danger, the instinctive caution that warned him not to rush. Maybe it was because he knew nothing of the marauders' purpose here. Or maybe it was settling back into his element, hunting, killing the men.

He just trusted himself.

The snow was starting to fall harder, and no longer was it airy and dry like the flurries. Tristan felt the cold sink into his skin. A drop of melted snow ran down his face. The melted snow was dripping down his hair consistently. He shook his head out. Tristan crossed his arms and tucked his hands underneath them.

Someone shouted ahead of him. Tristan stopped and his hand went to his sword. Suddenly, through the swirling snow, he saw them—five marauders. And one was pointing a sword in his direction.

Tristan dropped his sword and grabbed his bow. One of the marauders was running ahead, no doubt to tell the others. Tristan's eyes darted from him to the other four, who were charging at him, and not quietly. They were closing in, running fast and one of them stringing a bow of his own.

Tristan shot the arrow at the furthest man, and reached for another. He ducked when one of the marauders shot at him. He considered his position, and judged he had space for one more shot.

He brought down the man with the bow, and then cast his bow aside. His fingers found the hilt of his long sword just as the first marauder attacked.

The scout rolled to the ground and away for distance. He recovered to his feet and brought his blade up to meet the second and third marauder simultaneously. His feet danced lightly over the snowy ground as he dodged their attacks. It bothered him that he was on the defensive. He should have been more alert, especially after killing the tan marauder. Instead, he was thinking about the snow!

One of the men nicked Tristan on the thigh. Tristan stumbled, but found his footing again. His eyes narrowed at the man, and with a high feint, Tristan undercut the man and slashed across his belly. He turned to the other two marauders, and they changed positions.

One stood in front of him, the other behind. And then they attacked, again simultaneously. Tristan briefly thought it was a bit dishonorable, two men attacking one, but then again, there was no honor in stealing women from their homes either.

He twisted his body and leaned backwards, narrowly missing one blade. Quickly, he thrust his sword up and caught one man in the shoulder. Tristan swung his blade overhead and severed the same man's head from his body. He turned to the other man, stepping forward and—

Suddenly he was swept up from the ground. Coarse rope covered him and took him high into the trees. His sword was caught in the rope net, but he couldn't move to free it. He was spinning, the trees and the snow just one giant swirl of imagery. He heard the man below him laugh.

The marauder shouted into the darkening sky, a war cry and unintelligible. Tristan struggled against the ropes, cursing them and himself for his stupidity. He'd forgotten about the traps.

His heart sank as his sword slipped through the net's holes, and fell to the ground. The marauder grinned. He picked up the sword, trading it for his own. He clearly admired the blade, and cast a smug glance at the knight's situation.

"You'll die slowly for the deaths you've caused," he said. His accent was smooth except for his obviously foreign intonations. He mumbled a bit too. Tristan clawed at the ropes, trying to pull himself up to the top of the net where he might be able to pry his way out. It made the net spin some more. Tristan fought against the disorientation.

"You killed them," the man continued, surveying his fallen comrades. "You must be one of Arthur's best. A knight?"

Tristan glared at him. What did it matter right now? _He's trying to distract you._ From where he knew the other marauders were, he heard voices. _They're coming._

_If they catch you, Jaelynn and Vanora are as good as lost._

If not dead.

His feet kept slipping through the net, tangling his legs. It wasn't helping him any. In fact, it made his thigh sting where one of the marauders had nicked him. So he completely let his legs relax, and strained his arms to take on his whole weight. Slowly, it worked. He pulled himself up to the top of the closed net.

The marauder swung Tristan's blade in the air, once, twice, testing it. He grinned as if he'd found a new prize. Then he stepped to the tree, particularly to a taunt rope that hoisted Tristan's net in place.

Tristan hurried. He pulled himself a few inches higher within the net, until he got his hand through one hole and grabbed a branch. With his right hand, he grabbed his knife that he kept tucked in his chest armor. He began sawing away at the rope, especially around his left arm.

The marauder saw what he was doing, and quickly slashed the suspending rope. Immediately, Tristan felt the extra weight of the whole net as it tried to fall to the ground. The heaviness of it took him by surprise. He grimaced and he yelled out at the paining in his arm and shoulder. The knife finally cut through the rope. The hole he'd made wasn't huge, but he pulled himself through more, until the rest of the net fell to the ground at the marauder's feet.

"Clever, aren't you," the marauder said. His grin was gone now, and he held Tristan's sword ready. Tristan tried to catch his breath. His knife was still in his right hand, but he held onto it and also tried to grab the branch. He had to relieve the ache that was setting in his left shoulder.

He hung there, rather foolishly. His eyes darted to the shapes amid the snow that were materializing into men. They were coming closer, the rest of them.

Tristan glanced back at the marauder below him. Speed was of the essence now. He drew a deep breath.

And then he swung back, then forward, and let go of the branch. As he fell, he twisted the knife in his hand so the blade was pointing down. He landed on the marauder, with his knife ahead of him just enough.

Tristan's sword fell from the marauder's hands, followed quickly by the man's lifeless corpse. The knife Tristan had held was embedded in the man's throat.

Breath came in short gasps, but he was winning back control. He glanced ahead, and knew he had no time to berate or congratulate himself. He picked up his sword, removed the knife from his foe's neck, and gathered his bow and arrows.

He ran to a thicket of brush and trees.

And waited.


	7. Why

**a/n: **Don't know if you all saw it or not, but Mads Mikkelsen will be playing the villain in the upcoming Bond movie. Cool, huh? To celebrate, enjoy the chapter and send me feedback. :o)

**Why**

As the men ran towards the scene of the fight, Tristan inspected the cut to his thigh. It was shallow, just a scrape really. He pressed his palm against it briefly.

"They're dead!" It was the Roman one who reported the news loudly back to the easterner. All of them headed for the bodies of their comrades. Each man had his sword drawn, and the tall one with the scar across his forehead held his close to the women. Tristan bit down on his tongue. His hand almost squeaked against the hilt of his sword as his fist clenched hard around it.

The easterner knelt by the last man's body. Steam rose from the blood that poured down his neck. His eyes were still open.

Tristan watched as the easterner's face tightened. He didn't frown, but kept his expression neutral. In control.

And then he reacted.

The easterner turned to the man with the scar—Korab, he called him.

"Now."

Tristan's brow furrowed. What did he mean—

Jaelynn shrieked, a piercing sound that made Tristan's stomach drop. The man with scar, Korab, seized Jaelynn by the hair, and held his sword to her face. Vanora gasped but before she could do anything about the situation, she was grabbed by another marauder. A sword was held to her throat, but Tristan could barely tear his eyes from Jaelynn. Korab had the sword's edge not just pressed to her throat, but instead against her face. He could see the threat wasn't idle, not from the scarred man's expression and poise.

The easterner kept his eyes on the trees, glancing around from spot to spot.

"Come out!" he shouted. The men shifted, guarding their positions. The blades sung in the air, and Tristan felt his blood run cold.

Jaelynn cried out again. Korab pulled her head further back, pulling her hair hard and pushing the sword more against her cheek.

"No!" Vanora protested, but suddenly she was flung hard to the ground. The marauder followed through with his blade, pressing the tip against her throat. Tristan could see a single drop of blood escape and trickle down her fair-skinned neck. Vanora stilled, her eyes wide.

"Come out, now!" The easterner commanded, but he waited. Tristan didn't move from his spot. He shifted the weapons in his hands. He had his arrows, and could make good use of them. There were only ten marauders now, but with the women so threatened . . .

"Korab, Estho," the easterner called. Suddenly the two marauders holding the women raised their swords for a killing stroke.

Tristan drew an arrow, notched it and released it before he could think about the consequences. The arrow pierced the marauder's neck, grazing it, and then continuing on to hit Korab in the shoulder.

The reaction was instantaneous, but that didn't stop Tristan. He quickly reload, drew back the string—

--and froze. The two marauders over the women were stunned momentarily, but the rest of course knew where Tristan was now. He found every sword pointed in his direction, and a few throwing knives ready as well.

"Throw down your bow," the easterner commanded. Tristan glanced from him to the women. Jaelynn was on the ground now, her hand on her head. She rubbed it gingerly, but suddenly Korab grabbed her by the arm and yanked her up. Tristan twisted his body, changing his aim.

"Stop, or they both die!"

The string was tight, digging into his fingertips. But he didn't let go. He glanced at the easterner, the obvious leader of the group still.

"Let them go," Tristan said. His voice grated in the cold snowy weather. The lack of use over the last couple of days probably didn't help either. Even so, the marauders didn't try to kill him . . . yet.

The easterner grinned.

"You think I let them go? One of you, against all us?" He laughed, and his men joined in. Tristan noticed Korab and the other man didn't laugh, but if looks could kill, Tristan and the women would be gone.

"What do you want?" Tristan asked. His eyes kept moving from each man, and back to the women. He had no upper hand here, he knew. But it wasn't completely hopeless.

The easterner's features hardened. The men sobered up and the tension easily infected the air.

"We want Rome to pay."

Tristan raised an eyebrow at that.

"This isn't Rome," he said. Korab spoke up next.

"We want Romans, like Arthur and his knights, to pay for what they've done," he said. Tristan frowned. They didn't seem to see the difference between Romans and Britons, though there was plenty. Not to mention Tristan was Sarmatian, but he pushed that aside. These marauders wanted revenge—for what, he wasn't sure. His eyes moved to the women.

"I'm one of Arthur's knights," Tristan said, tilting his chin up defiantly. "Let them go."

More laughter. The marauders sneered at him, but the easterner held up his hand.

"You offer yourself to trade?"

That's exactly what he meant. Vanora gasped. Tristan met her eyes, which wide, concerned and desperate. He looked to Jaelynn, who was oddly calm despite the fear etched in her face. He looked away and nodded without a word.

"Then drop your weapons," the easterner said. Tristan glared at him.

"Release them." His demand was met with more sneers and anxious movements from the marauders. The easterner grinned.

"Just one."

Tristan pulled back harder on the bowstring. The marauder by Vanora, Estho, suddenly sliced Vanora in the arm.

"No!" Jaelynn yelled, struggling against Korab. Tristan changed aim.

"Stop!"

Tristan hesitated, glaring at the easterner, but his aim was still on the marauder, Estho.

"Choose one, or they two die," the easterner said. His voice was even if his speech was not. Tristan didn't like this. How could he trust them to really let one go? With both of them gone, he thought he had better odds, but the marauders figured the same thing. Whoever he chose to leave had to make it back to Arthur, but the other would no doubt be used as leverage.

His breathing picked up, but he tried to hide it. Slowly, he lowered his bow.

"Vanora," he said, not daring to look at either woman.

"No, let Jaelynn—" she tried to argue. But Estho cut the bindings away from her hands and pushed her away. The easterner nodded at his men.

"Go," he said simply. The other marauders came upon Tristan cautiously. "Weapons," the easterner reminded him.

Tristan dropped his bow. The men watched him with each step they took closer. Vanora inched away reluctantly, grasping her arm and trying to stop the pain from the cut. Tristan knew she was trying to catch his eye.

"Go, Vanora," he said. The scout removed his sword next, and then his knife. Blood from the men he'd killed still stained the blades, and he saw the easterner noticed it. The marauders pounced together; they seized him by the arms and forced him to his knees. He heard Vanora say something. "Go!" he yelled at her.

The marauders pushed him to the snowy ground and he felt his arms being forced behind his back. Ropes bound him, and then he was lifted up to his feet. He faced them all now, and especially Jaelynn. The hold on her had eased, but she was held by Korab. Tristan frowned but said nothing.

The easterner paced around him, surveying him like a tiger does its prey when it's really had enough to eat and just wants to toy with the future meal.

"Why not the girl?" the easterner asked. Tristan glanced at Jaelynn, expecting some look of blame. He found none. She just looked at him blankly. It reminded him of himself. He shook the thought away.

"Vanora's got kids," Tristan answered simply. The easterner didn't seem convinced or moved at that.

Suddenly, the easterner turned to his men.

"We go."

They moved quickly as if making up for the lost time. Tristan noticed they left the bodies of their comrades unattended. That said something about them, and nothing honorable. He blinked, and walked along with the group.

Three marauders took places around him. Jaelynn was kept up ahead of him, and he caught her peeking back frequently. He wanted to offer some reassurance and almost smiled until he remembered he really had nothing to offer. He wondered if giving himself up was the right move. It was dangerous, but he'd at least found some reason that the marauders were here—and he'd rather receive any revenge than Jaelynn or Vanora.

"Where are we going?" Tristan asked. Estho, who was still bleeding a bit from the arrow Tristan had shot, punched him in the side. The impact forced a grunt from Tristan's lips, but he stopped himself from falling. The other two marauders grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him ahead.

"Move," the easterner commanded. "Answers later." Another marauder hit Tristan, this time in the face. Somehow, Tristan doubted the answers to come were for his benefit.

-0-0-

Vanora ran quickly over the snow. She shivered from the frigid air, and the wetness of the snowflakes didn't help. Her arm was dripping blood, but she was glad for it. It served as a trail back towards Jaelynn and Tristan.

One purpose kept her moving—the ones she cared about. She couldn't believe Tristan had picked her to go. It was so wrong to her, but she couldn't argue and risk being held back.

Besides, she was running back now, and hopefully to Bors and Arthur, who would come and find Jaelynn and Tristan.

_Jaelynn._ She didn't worry nearly as much for Tristan. He had survived much already. But Jaelynn was no warrior. And maturing into a young woman wasn't enough to help her through this. Vanora hoped Tristan would calm her, if he could.

She cringed as she thought about what treatment they might receive now. The easterner's words came back to her.

_We want Romans . . . Arthur and his knights . . . to pay._

The shivers came back to her, and Vanora ran harder.

-0-0-

She felt sick each time she heard the men hitting Tristan. It had happened six times now, intermittently, as if they were purposely trying to trip him or hinder him as he walked. Jaelynn heard another blow, and glanced back worriedly as Tristan went down on one knee.

"Up!" It was Estho, who she noticed seemed to be paying Tristan back for that arrow shot. He'd already hit him a couple of times. The marauders kicked at Tristan's legs until he got up.

His eyes met hers. Jaelynn's breath caught in her throat. He looked determined. Not optimistic. Not pained. But determined. He nodded slightly to her, and she offered him a soft smile.

Suddenly Korab grabbed her, pushing her ahead. Tristan must have done something in response, because she heard the marauders hit him again. Tristan groaned, and then there was a thud.

She tried to look back, but Korab prevented it. Still Jaelynn struggled, until Korab grabbed her about the waist and slung her over his shoulder. The man's armored shoulder jabbed her stomach, but she dismissed that when she saw Tristan.

His hair covered his face, but she could see a bruise or two forming beneath the skin. The marauders kept prodding him forward. Tristan's brown eyes darkened as he glared at them all.

It wasn't long before guilt flooded her. Tears pricked at her eyes as she observed the harsh treatment. _Why did he trade himself?_ She hated seeing him this way. It reminded her too much of being held by the Saxons, two years ago.

_What if they kill him?_ Her heart skipped a beat. They'd said they wanted to make Arthur and the knights pay. Tristan was definitely a target for their anger. The thought made her grow colder than she already was.

It was dark and moonless when they stopped. Jaelynn could barely make out Tristan's form until they pushed him in the middle of the makeshift camp spot. She heard him groan. She wished she could go to him, but she was kept apart. Korab shoved her to the ground by the outer ring of the group. She noticed the dried blood on the man's shoulder. The arrow Tristan shot hadn't gone deep, but it did make him bleed. Even so, Korab acted like there was no pain or discomfort.

_Warriors_, Jaelynn thought with a roll of her eyes. She hoped he was hurting.

She pushed any thought aside as Tristan slowly sat up. The marauders were watching him, but the easterner held up his hand to keep them at bay.

The snow wasn't falling anymore, but a few inches had accumulated. It covered Tristan's legs as he sat up. Estho walked by him, and pushed him forward. With his hands tied behind his back, he couldn't stop himself from falling face-first in the snow.

"No," she whimpered, glancing at Korab. He didn't seem to care. Tristan sat himself upright again, and Jaelynn's heart ached as she watched him struggle.

-0-0-

Tristan wasn't sure where Jaelynn was until he heard her voice. It was soft, but at least he knew she was about thirty feet from him, guarded by Korab.

The snow from the ground stuck to his hair, and he shook his head. Once the snow was less of an annoyance, he started watching. The marauders were settling in, watching out for dangers and also keeping an eye on him.

"Who are you?"

The easterner. He came from behind Tristan. The scout raised an eyebrow.

"I told you. I'm one of Arthur's knights," he said. He kept his tone as neutral as possible, though he was miffed enough to let his temper flare to Bors-proportions. After being kicked and hit the whole walk so far, he was less than patient.

Despite Tristan's neutral tone, the easterner hit him in the face. The unexpected impact made the scout bite his lip.

"Don't forget you are prisoner," he said. "One mistake, you and girl die."

Tristan spat out some blood from where he'd bitten his lip.

"Why take the women?" Tristan asked. The easterner's face reddened at the question, as if Tristan was out of line to even ask. He didn't care, and pressed on. "If it's revenge you want on us, why take them?"

The dark-haired easterner smiled unpleasantly.

"You will suffer a lot, but maybe less if you're quiet. Tonight, you freeze."

The easterner signaled to his men. They converged on him simultaneously, and forced him on his stomach. They cut the ropes around his wrists, but held him tightly down. He felt them pulling at him, at his clothes. They were removing his armor, his coat, and even his thin shirt. Tristan was left in only his pants and shoes.

Suddenly they all stopped, standing over him, staring at him.

At his back, over his right shoulder. Tristan tensed as he felt someone touch his scar, his brand as an assassin.

The marauders muttered something to each other, and soon the noise escalated to a roar. One of them kicked Tristan scornfully. The kick struck so hard that it made Tristan wheeze.

He tried to listen to what they were saying. The men argued back and forth, kicking Tristan every now and then.

_The scar._ It was what set them off. _Why? They know what it means, but what does it matter to them?_

"Tie him for the night," the easterner said loudly. The kicking stopped just enough for him to be grabbed roughly and dragged over by Jaelynn. His body slid over the snow-laden ground. The frozen debris on the forest floor scraped against his naked back, and the cold just made it more painful. He wasn't numb yet, but he imagined he would be soon. He hoped he could get his coat back.

He wouldn't survive very well if he didn't.

Korab had new bindings ready as soon as the marauders dropped Tristan. For a brief moment, Tristan considered fighting back and escaping, but the calculating side of him told him it wasn't time. Above him, something flew amid the trees, and then disappeared. He smiled briefly, recognizing the shape as his hawk. She would keep her eyes on Tristan and follow as long as she could.

The marauders yanked his arms back and forced them around the trunk of a tree. The rough bark tore at his skin. Tristan swallowed an uncomfortable grunt until the marauders finished tying his hands and left him and Jaelynn.

"Tristan!" Jaelynn whispered frantically. "Are you okay?" She crawled over to him, conveniently ignoring the warning glares Korab sent her.

Tristan winced but nodded. He didn't want Jaelynn worrying right now. He needed to think, to concentrate on his surroundings and these men.

"You'll freeze!" she said, keeping her voice low. Her eyes wandered over his chest, and despite her concerned observation, Tristan noticed her eyes lingering longer than necessary. Blushing, she tried to look him in the eye. He decided to speak to ease her.

"That's the point," he muttered. She blinked.

"They want you to freeze?"

Tristan grunted. "They want revenge. This is one step of many." Jaelynn's face paled. Tristan tried to shrug it off. He was well accustomed to pain. He just couldn't figure out who had been killed to warrant this revenge.

He went over everything in his mind.

_They took Vanora and Jaelynn. Burnt Bors' home. Left the threat not to follow—_

_--But they knew we'd follow. We'd have to, so they could get to us._

_To me._

He easily suspected he was the reason why these marauders were here. During his time in Rome, Tristan killed many. Maybe these men didn't appreciate one of his targets.

"What are you thinking?" Jaelynn asked. Tristan glanced at her, but said nothing. He was starting to shiver.

_Ignore it_, he told himself. He went back to his thoughts. _The scar. They know I was an assassin. Arthur had nothing to do with that._ He smiled grimly. At least he stood a chance of arguing that their quarrel was with him, and not Arthur, Jaelynn, the knights or any other Briton.

_Jaelynn._

He looked to her suddenly, and she almost jumped back. Her eyes quickly darted from his chest. Tristan smirked.

"Did you hear where we're going?" he asked. She shook her head. Her eyes dropped again to his chest. Suddenly she shifted and started pulling at her cloak. It was slightly humorous to watch, since her hands were bound, but she managed.

"Here," she said, dropping the cloak on him. It was in a heap, and she began to spread it over him.

"Jaelynn, you'll freeze—" he started.

"It's this, or you'll freeze too." She glared at him. Tristan smirked at her defiance. "Besides, I'm tired of seeing your chest and you laughing at me."

Laughter was exactly what made Tristan's body shake more. He wasn't terribly surprised that Jaelynn would just come out and say that—too much time around Vanora—but at least it made him smile. He rolled his shoulder a bit, moving the cloak.

"Take some," he said. He felt his throat scratch—it was getting sore. He frowned briefly before casting the thought aside. There was little he could do to avoid falling ill. The last thing he wanted was for Jaelynn to be sick too. She hesitated before inching closer to him, which he found a little amusing.

He sensed the warmth of her body, but she didn't actually lean against him. From a survival standpoint, he would have preferred the contact, but he didn't want to go there and have to suffer more awkwardness.

There was silence between them, and Tristan used it to study the marauders. They were falling asleep, but each had a weapon in hand, and the two men awake and guarding the camp kept glaring at Tristan. He wondered if they'd try to kill him during the night while the easterner slept.

"Did you really send Vanora back because of the kids?" Jaelynn asked. Tristan glanced down at her. The slight movement pulled his strained muscles over his shoulders, neck and back. She noticed the flicker of discomfort, but didn't comment on it.

"No," he said. Jaelynn tilted her head to the side. "Because she could make it back to the Wall."

It took three seconds for it to sink in.

"What!" Her loud exclamation echoed over the camp, and the marauder nearest her unsheathed his sword. Jaelynn ducked her head as the marauder approached. He glared at her, and settled on kicking some snow at Jaelynn.

She shook it off, and went back to glaring at Tristan.

"I could have made it back fine!" she hissed. Tristan rolled his eyes.

"You rather Vanora were here?"

If he weren't tied to a tree, he suspected she would have spat at him.

"No, but I would have been fine!" She seized the cloak with her bound hands and pulled it away with a scornful glare to the scout. Tristan didn't realize how much warmth it'd provided until it was gone. The shivering picked up before he could stop it. Goosebumps spread over his skin, and he shut his eyes as he tried to control his shaking.

After a few moments, Jaelynn hadn't said anything else. Curious, he opened his eyes. She was staring at his chest again, although not nearly as fascinated this time. He glanced down to see what held her attention.

He saw the bruises easily against his pale cold flesh. Scars showed up too because of the frigid air. Jaelynn's expression was pitiable, and he didn't care for it. He hated sympathy.

She reached her hands towards him, and her fingers found one of his scars, on the side of his chest. Tristan almost jerked at the touch. But he made himself not move. He watched her fingers feel over the long bumpy scar.

"What's this from?" she asked quietly, tracing it again. To answer, he discovered he had to breathe. Slowly, he let out the breath he'd accidentally been holding.

"The Saxon king," he said simply. Jaelynn frowned, and moved on to another scar. She slid her hand over his chest to the round, puckered white tissue over his left rib cage.

"The bolt, when they shot you," she guessed. Tristan nodded once. It was the Saxons again, when he'd tried to rescue Jaelynn and her father after his return from Rome. He'd been shot after Jaelynn got away, and he didn't think he'd survive. Then Jaelynn had returned, just a slip of a girl but boldly riding a horse into the fray to pull him out of the fight.

She pulled away from him, drawing him out of the memory. Jaelynn's eyes were downcast. She spread the cloak again, and covered him with it. Tristan kept shivering, even as he felt Jaelynn scoot against him. She leaned into him, and tucked herself beneath his arm. Tristan relished the warmth, but he kept shaking. Jaelynn tucked the cloak around them both, and settled back in.

Slowly the shivering stopped. Tristan's heart was hammering, something he blamed on the cold. Or maybe the girl sleeping on him. He shut his eyes.

It'd been too long since he'd slept. And if he was going to be any good for Jaelynn or his own survival, he would need rest, even if it was uncomfortable with his arms tied behind him and the tree. As the night wore on, Tristan let his heavy eyelids drop further and further. The last thing he saw that night was the brown-haired young woman resting against him as if nothing were wrong.


	8. The Follow

**a/n:** This was very laborious to write, but I'm pretty pleased with it. I hope you are too! I'm trying to get more written, and post more frequently. I hope to have another chapter up this weekend, but send me your feedback! Thanks!

**The Follow**

Bors grumbled as he roved deeper through the woods. He could care less what Arthur said to do. He wasn't just going to sit around and wait for Tristan to pop up when he wanted to.

"Cocky scout," he muttered. He urged his horse ahead, and tried a glance at the ground. With the fresh snow, there was no way he could track the scout or the intruders. Even if the snow wasn't there, Bors was the worst at tracking.

He growled at the ground, as if it were the reason he was in this trouble.

A branch snapped around the ridge of a hill. Bors halted his horse, and drew his curved hand blades. He could think of several ways to dice those men who'd taken his Vanora. Whoever it was rustled through the forest, and that was reason enough for Bors.

His horse darted forward, and Bors roared as he saw a figure. His fists, covered in his blades, were raised and ready.

And then, with a small glimpse, he saw the sweet, red-haired beauty that could stop him in his tracks with a single look or command. Instead of scolding him though, she held her arms out to him.

"Bors!"

The bald knight jumped off his horse and dropped his blades along the way. He wrapped his arms around Vanora and kissed her hard. His kisses rained over her repeatedly, until she pushed him away.

"There's no time!" she said breathlessly. "They still have Jaelynn, and Tristan too!"

-0-0-

_Tristan hasn't said much_, Jaelynn thought to herself. Immediately she realized how stupid that was. _Of course he hasn't. That's normal for him._ But she couldn't forget how she woke up.

He was shivering. It was just a little jerk here and there, and glancing at him when she woke up, she could tell he was trying to stop the shaking. Their eyes met, him looking down at her—and that's when she realized her face was pressed against his cold, naked chest.

She pushed against his chest with her hands and sat upright. The blush crept over her face and she hated herself for it! Thankfully, he'd saved her from some of her mortification.

"You sleep all right?" he asked. She nodded and will the embarrassment away. "They're coming." He nodded once behind her.

And then Korab grabbed her and hauled her to her feet. She gasped, but saw Tristan's body tense.

"Eh!" It was enough to draw a look from Korab, and a kick from another marauder. Jaelynn flinched.

His shirt and coat were returned to him, but not his armor. The marauders left it in the snow, something that made the scout scowl. As they resumed their forced journey with the marauders, Jaelynn saw Tristan shivering. He coughed a few times, and Jaelynn frowned.

She'd never heard him cough like this. Suddenly he sneezed, and Jaelynn's heart ached for him. _Have I ever heard him sneeze before?_

She glanced back at him. He was shaking his head, slightly disoriented. Tristan looked ahead and nodded at her. She offered back a weak, worried smile. _I hope he's okay._ The sky was clear now, but without the clouds, the air felt even chillier. That wouldn't help Tristan. Surprisingly Jaelynn felt okay. The constant pace the marauders forced kept her more than warm enough.

_Where are we going? _They were headed south, she knew that. But if they kept going south, they'd only hit the ocean. Did they plan to leave Britain? If so, why take her and Tristan with them?

"Move!" Korab suddenly barked at her. Jaelynn cast a glare over her shoulder, but complied.

-0-0-

"Could you all please shut your traps?"

Arthur had said many things over the years, much more forcefully and eloquently, but somehow, the tiredness and bluntness of these words made everyone obey. The knights, Guinevere, Britons, and Arthur had been arguing for a good half hour. Only Bors wasn't currently involved—he was hovering over Vanora and making sure she was all right.

The mixed council quieted, and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he _was_ king after all.

"With Tristan captured, we can't just sit back and wait. We will pursue them, even if it is perilous for them both," Arthur said calmly. "I think we all agree their threat is void. Jaelynn and Tristan will only suffer the longer we delay."

"Let's go then," Gawain said, standing. Arthur shot him a look that made Gawain reclaim his seat.

"If we're not careful though," Arthur continued, "we will only hasten the deaths of those we care for. We must ensure we're following the right trail, and charge when we can seize victory and save Tristan and Jaelynn."

The king turned to Guinevere, and his expression softened.

"Two Woads will lead the way, scout the path to get us to the marauders as quickly as possible." Gawain and Galahad bustled at that, but one look from both Guinevere and Arthur kept them silent. "Lennor and Nasica, how soon can you be ready?"

All eyes turned to two Britons—a man and a woman—who stood when called. Lennor, a man with long hair tied back, didn't say anything but looked to the woman. Nasica, as she was called, had lighter hair, nearly blonde. Her eyes looked steely as they bore into Arthur.

"Fifteen minutes."

Arthur nodded to her and the man, and they both left the room. To the rest, Arthur merely said:

"Knights, get Bors, and be ready to leave in time."

-0-0-

They were headed to the sea. Tristan knew where they were, but it didn't make sense. There was no port or town from which to leave. There was nothing in the direction they were going. But the salt was definitely in the air, and Tristan expected to hear the waves any moment now.

_Maybe we'll stop soon then._

He hated to even think about stopping. Was he really that weak, that he wanted to stop?

_Yes._

He scowled at himself. His head felt thick and his throat swollen. He couldn't breathe very well either. He hated being sick. Even with all his scouting trips, he didn't fall prey to the elements and simple colds often. Of all the times, though, it had to happen now.

His mind drifted from its foggy state to Jaelynn. She felt so warm against him overnight. For a long time, he'd just stared down at her. How could she be so calm, knowing her situation now? He was a prisoner now, and yet she wasn't afraid of having no one near to save her. Did she trust him that much, maybe thinking he would get them out of this like he sort of had when they were captured by the Saxons?

No, she wasn't so misguided. He had to admit, Jaelynn was smart. And she had courage that few women, or people, had. He thought again about how she looked when they awoke. He'd felt so awkward and tense, especially when she'd blushed and he could only imagine what she was thinking.

_You have to be careful. She'll think there's more between you if you keep this up._ That was the last thing he wanted.

_Right. _He only wanted to keep her safe. _Focus then._

He glanced at each marauder. There were several who just glared at him but they followed the easterner's commands. Korab did too, but Tristan didn't like how close he was to Jaelynn. Estho wasn't much better, but Tristan suspected Estho would try to make him as uncomfortable as possible. Hopefully that would deter him from bothering Jaelynn.

The easterner was Tristan's main concern. He was a controlled one, a definite leader, but this anger towards him . . . _Who did I kill that drove him to this?_ The revenge seemed out of place for the easterner.

He coughed, and launched into a whole fit. His lungs produced a wet, garbled noise. Behind him, someone moved closer and shoved him ahead. Tristan stumbled briefly. He would have glared coldly at whoever shoved him, but he just didn't have the energy.

A roar and crash sounded ahead, and then he felt the strong gusts of wind that so often accompanied the coast. The wind blew his twisted strands of hair around. He looked ahead and saw the ocean gleaming back at him.

Jaelynn was staring at it too. He wondered if she'd ever seen it before.

There was no vessel on the ocean, nothing waiting on the beach. The marauders just marched them ahead, down to the sandy shore, and towards a rocky cliff.

The water lapped slightly over their feet, adding to Tristan's discomfort and coldness. Why they were walking so close to the water, he didn't know. But it was when they rounded the edge of the rocky cliffs that he saw why.

A cave lay within the rocks, with a bit of seawater lapping at the entrance. The marauders entered, their wet footsteps sloshing and echoing off the stone walls. The daylight faded quickly as they went further and further into the cave.

The form of the cave stunned Tristan. Moisture glistened on the rocky face in the dim light, and dripped down. The cave was all natural, but split off into levels as they went deeper. The first level was a flatter piece of rock that was a few feet off the cave floor. Above it was another flat rock, and then off to one side and a little high was another level. It was amazing, really. Even more so were the black holes that showed cavernous tunnels. Tristan wondered where those led, and maybe, if they led to a way out.

The marauders led him and Jaelynn to the first ledge, and Tristan followed as he was shoved ahead. They climbed the second rock level, and then went down the dark cavern. Tristan couldn't see anything, but the marauders moved with ease. Suddenly Estho, who was behind him, pushed him to the side. Tristan fully expected to hit the hard rocks, but instead found himself falling past everyone, and hitting the floor.

Down the tunnel they'd walked through came a light, and it was the easterner who appeared with the lit torch in his hand. The orangey glow lit up the area, and Tristan glanced around. The tunnel had opened into a large, round room. He saw no way out but the way they'd come.

Estho bent towards Tristan and seized him by his clothes. He muttered something and then chucked him to the side. The easterner objected, but then the marauders all started arguing.

Tristan winced slightly as he shifted around. He glanced to Jaelynn. Korab watched her closely, but allowed her to move closer to Tristan.

"What are they fighting about?" she whispered to him. "Are you okay?"

Tristan chose to completely ignore the second question. One of the marauders drew his sword and gestured angrily towards the scout. A few of the other marauders sneered in his direction too. Tristan sighed.

"What?" Jaelynn asked. She glanced from the marauders and then to Tristan. "Do you think they'll hurt us?"

Her question reminded him of something similar that she asked when the Saxons captured him two years ago. He considered his words briefly.

"Yes." Jaelynn looked sharply at him, and Tristan shrugged. "Me, at least. You want me to lie?"

Jaelynn sighed worriedly, and tried to ignore the bluntness of his reply. "How are we going to escape?"

Tristan stared at her. Her eyes were focused on the feuding marauders. Her light brown hair was heavy-laden from her ordeal, and the slight curls mangled. Her skin was dirty, but she still looked well. For all his failures in attempting to save her and Vanora, he was glad she was all right.

"If you have the chance," he said in his mumbled accent, "leave. Run and don't come back." Jaelynn looked at him reprovingly.

"Do you mean—"

"You know what I mean," Tristan said. Jaelynn drew a shaky breath. "Will you do it?"

"No," she said without hesitation. "How could you—"

"Jaelynn, please." The soft pleading of his quiet voice was foreign even to him, but at least it made Jaelynn listen. "Just do it."

-0-0-

Nasica knelt on the ground. Her gray eyes saw definite tracks. She looked over her shoulder to Lennor.

He nodded at another spot, and then towards the south, ahead of them. Both Woads stood, and ran.

Nasica's eyes stayed on the ground. She kept a bow and arrow in her hands, a precaution. Lennor was the same way. Suddenly they both slowed down. Up on a slight rise in the land, she could see bodies.

She frowned, and readied her bow. She covered Lennor as he started to look over the dead.

"Marauders," he said shortly. "This is where the scout must have met them."

Nasica eyed the ground, specifically the blood. She made a face.

"Vanora left from here," she said. She glanced over her shoulder again, and saw horses and the King coming their way. She sent a wiry smile at Lennor.

"At least they're keeping up," she said. Lennor snorted, and the two Woads charged ahead.

It didn't take them long to reach where the marauders must have camped. Nasica sorted around, not really seeing anything she thought important.

"Nasica," Lennor called. He was by a tree, his fingers touching the bark. Armor lay by the tree as well, but there was no surprise of whom it belonged to. Nasica went to his side, and then saw beyond the armor. There were rubbings in the tree bark. Marring. The marks weren't too sharp or deep, but something had been wrapped around the tree.

"The girl or the scout?" Lennor thought aloud. Nasica shrugged.

"Does it matter?"

She rose, and checked back down the way they'd come. Arthur and his knights were riding towards them. She frowned at the urgent expression on Arthur's face.

"The hawk is here," the king said as soon as he was near. Nasica cocked her head to the side.

"What?"

Gawain, riding behind the king, pointed up to the sky. She looked, and sure enough, there was a hawk, circling rapidly.

"It's Tristan's hawk," Arthur explained. "And she's waiting for us to follow."

Nasica shot a skeptical glance to Lennor. "You would have us follow the hawk?"

Arthur hesitated briefly. "The hawk has done this before."

"Circled in the sky?" She couldn't hide the smugness in her voice, and earned a reproving glare from both Arthur and Lennor.

"Don't disregard the direction the hawk takes," Arthur warned. With that, he spurred his horse forward, and the knights followed after him. Nasica didn't miss the glares she was receiving, but it didn't bother her. She knew her skills and she trusted herself over a bird.

The knights and Arthur headed off in one direction, and Lennor shifted around nervously.

"Who are we following?" Lennor asked. The wind blew wisps of hair from the tie that held back most of Lennor's locks. Nasica sighed, and turned to the trail leading from the camp. It was the same direction as the hawk's flight, and where the knights had ridden.

"The trail," she said.

-0-0-

The arguing among the marauders didn't take long to turn to something worse. Korab tied Jaelynn to a stake buried in the rocks. She couldn't move far, and was helpless to watch as they all focused on Tristan.

The scout's eyes were dark and threatening, defiant as always. A coughing fit seized him though, and it only showed how weak he was becoming. Jaelynn hated to think of him as anything but the strong, silent warrior, but he was ill, no thanks to the marauders' treatment. They laughed at him, and one of the marauders kicked Tristan in the chest.

Tristan's struggle to breathe increased. His lungs produced a garbled sound as he wheezed to get enough air. Korab grabbed Tristan by the hair, yanking his head back.

He said something in some foreign tongue, and then spit on Tristan. Jaelynn felt rage go through her, and she saw the same go through Tristan. He strained against the man's hold. Another marauder came and held him fast.

The easterner took the moment to step forward.

"Do you know why you're here?" he asked. Tristan glared for a long time before finally shaking his head. The easterner's lip curled up, disgusted. He hit the scout across the face.

Jaelynn gasped. The easterner hit Tristan again.

"No!" Jaelynn yelled. The easterner didn't even turn to acknowledge her. "Please, he's done nothing!" Korab moved to her side, and slapped her. She saw nothing for a brief moment, and then as her vision returned, she felt her face stinging.

"Wait," Tristan said, drawing Korab away from Jaelynn. "I know I killed someone you care for. But I don't know who."

The marauders just stared at him, and then to each other. And then they laughed. Jaelynn frowned. _What is he talking about? Who did he kill that would have this mix of men so vengeful?_

Footsteps sounded down the tunnel, and the marauders all turned to wait. It was Estho, holding something carefully in his hands. Water dripped from it onto the rocks. Jaelynn shuddered just at the malicious grin he had on his face. She glanced at Tristan. He was focused on Estho as well, but appeared indifferent. She wondered if he felt any fear at all.

As soon as she saw what Estho was carrying, Jaelynn gasped. She'd never seen such a thing, but it looked painfully evil. It was a round, dark black or purple thing, with long spikes. The spikes were more like needles, but thicker. Estho knelt by Tristan's side and held the thing close to him.

"Do you know what this is?" Tristan's body tensed, and twisted slightly away. Jaelynn doubted he even realized he'd moved at all.

"It's from the sea," Estho said. He smirked at the scout, and glanced at the easterner. "The needles have poison. And they hurt." He stood and stepped back, and the easterner nodded to the marauders.

They removed Tristan's shirt and coat. Estho took one of the needles and broke it off. The spiked sea creature recoiled and then jutted out its needles in defense. Jaelynn's eyes widened.

Estho came at Tristan with the needle, pointing it at his side. Tristan shrank back, and even though the men must have held him tightly, the scout managed to free his legs and kick Estho.

Estho fell back, cursing and hissing in anger. The easterner tore off another needle and moved to Jaelynn.

_No, no, no!_ But she tilted her chin up and made herself be still.

The easterner came closer, and held the needle like a dagger. She could only imagine the force with which he would plunge the needle into her.

"Wait," she heard Tristan say. The easterner merely paused and then grabbed Jaelynn by the arm. Jaelynn glared at him but didn't move. "No, wait!"

The easterner stopped this time, the needle a breath away from her arm. He glared at Tristan.

"Cooperate," was all he said. Tristan gave a short nod.

"But tell me who I killed."

The easterner smiled grimly. "You did not kill her." He went to Tristan. "Gag him." Before Jaelynn could process that, the marauders took a cloth and tied it over his mouth. It was pulled tight so that it bit uncomfortably in his mouth, forcing it slightly open. Jaelynn's cheeks burned at the mere insult to Tristan that they would gag him. In another situation, it might have been humorous—the silent scout, being gagged. But now, it implied he would not handle the pain.

Jaelynn wondered if this would be so painful as to make the knight scream.

The spike hovered over his side, above his hip. The easterner laid a hand on the scout and brought the needle closer.

"You should have killed her," Estho said, speaking for all of them. The easterner's eyes saddened briefly before glazing over in anger. And then he said:

"Yes. Decia Quintas."

Tristan frowned but his eyes went wide. The easterner smirked at his reaction, and then forced the needle through Tristan's skin.

Jaelynn's stomach lurched as she heard Tristan's muffled scream. The easterner still had his hands on the needle, moving it slowly on through Tristan's side. She didn't miss the agony in the scout's screams.

She would never forget that sound.


	9. Seaing

**a/n: **Thanks to whoever nominated The Fear of Rome for a Tristran Award! If you guys haven't heard about this, Priestess of the Myrmidon has a link from her profile about these Tristan fic awards. Check it out!

This chapter is a bit heavy. It was difficult to write, and I'm not entirely pleased with it, but let me know how you like it. Thanks for all your reviews! I'm trying to answer each one, if you sign in when you review. Enjoy!

**Seaing**

Tristan had three thoughts.

One, the only positive thought, was that his hair covered his face enough to partially mask his torment. That was good for his pride, but that deflated more and more as he saw Jaelynn watching him with horror, and the marauders watching him with glee.

His second thought was wondering if the fiery pain in his side would ever go away. The spike from the sea creature was still lodged in his flesh, but even an arrow stuck in your body started to numb after awhile.

The last thought was about Decia Quintas. What happened? The last time he'd seen her, he'd sold her deceitful hide to a tribe of wanderers a week beyond Rome. If she survived more than a month, he was surprised. But how was she involved with these marauders? How did the marauders even know about him?

The easterner took another needle from the sea creature, held it up as if studying, and then lowered it to Tristan's leg. Korab knelt down and cut the pant leg open, exposing Tristan's calf.

The scout watched with half-focused eyes. The pain from his side was nearly unbearable. He couldn't settle down. His breath came in short gasps, and the gag didn't help—although he was glad for it to muffle the sounds coming from his throat.

The easterner lowered the spike so the sharp tip rested on top of Tristan's calf without piercing it. Tristan's whole body was tense in anticipation. He knew the easterner was doing it on purpose, but knowing the game didn't make it any less terrifying for him.

"Decia." Tristan's eyes shot away from the spike to the easterner's face. "You brought her to a village. Sold her." The easterner twisted the needle almost lazily. "Our village."

He pressed down on the needle, and Tristan threw his head back, his neck muscles becoming taut and anguish clearly spread over his face. The gag suppressed most of his scream, but it still tore at his raw throat.

Estho hovered over Tristan, grinning at the scout.

"Our village belonged to no one—no empire held claim over us," Estho said. "But you brought a Roman lady to us."

_A Roman lady . . ._ He struggled to keep listening. He had to know why.

"She gave us nothing but trouble. Five months after, the Romans came. She told them who she was—a Roman lady, close to every senator in Rome."

The easterner twisted the spike as it lay pierced in Tristan's leg. Tristan groaned loudly. His eyes watered. The spike stuck out from either side of his calf.

"She told them lies. The Romans—they slaughtered village," the easterner said. His voice was eerily quiet, or maybe it was the poison from the sea creature that muddled Tristan's mind.

"We were hunting," Korab suddenly pitched in. The man was quiet normally, and with the paining poison coursing through the knight's veins, the man reminded him of Dagonet. "The children. Our women. All were dead. Desecrated. Except one."

"And she died the night we returned," Estho said. His voice was dripping with venom. He snapped another spike and drove it with no mercy through Tristan's other leg. Darkness clouded over Tristan, but he wasn't lucky enough to pass out. Estho pulled out the spike and then plunged it through Tristan's leg again.

He screamed, but he couldn't even hear himself. His voice was gone.

"Decia spoke of the one who sold her to slavery," Korab said. "A knight. From a Roman leader's command."

"A knight and assassin," the easterner clarified. He gestured to his shoulder. The marauders turned him over roughly. He knew it was to see the scar again, but the movement jarred the spikes already sticking out of his legs and side. Again Tristan screamed, but no one heard it.

"You sent her to us," Estho said. "The moment she came, our families were doomed."

Tristan wasn't foolish enough to hope they would only look at his scar. He half-listened to what was being said, but he clearly heard another needle being broken off. His body was so tense, it added to the pain he felt. It also made him sweat, or again, maybe that was the poison from the spikes.

It was when the needle bit into the scar, and into the muscles of his shoulder, that his body hurt too much to bear it. Darkness fell over his mind.

-0-0-

The hawk had disappeared. Nasica thought it was a bit funny, but she didn't show that too much. Arthur and the knights were extremely put out about it.

It was just as well. She preferred to do what she was meant to, the way she was used to. So she and Lennor fanned out to various parts of the trail.

She wondered why they were doing all this. Sure, a girl's life was threatened. But was one girl worth it?

The scout certainly wasn't, in her opinion. She hadn't heard anything positive about the man. He was a murderer—an assassin, which wasn't any better than a murderer. Murderers at least killed for some reason they felt good enough. Assassins killed for money.

Nasica heard rumors that it wasn't for money that Tristan had killed. But really, who cared? He wasn't as strong as he should be, after 15 years in Rome's service as one of Arthur's famed knights.

But she was a Woad, and one that followed Arthur. A Briton, she supposed. She wasn't always happy with that, but at least her people had their country back. And Arthur was an honorable man, if not a bit misguided with those he decided to trust.

"We have to hurry," Arthur said, coming up beside her. "The longer we take, the less chance we have of finding them alive."

Nasica rolled her eyes, but she bit back the sarcastic comments that first came to mind. "We're getting closer."

Arthur frowned.

"How do you know?"

Nasica sighed. "Can't you tell? We're going south. Eventually, we'll get to the sea. And then there's no more land to track."

She knew Arthur was immediately thinking that Tristan and the girl were at sea by now, but Nasica didn't think so. From what she'd heard from Vanora's account, they wanted a knight. They would take him to a place where they could do what they came here for.

That didn't bode well for him, but Nasica didn't care. She had to track them, find them and save them along with the help of the knights. And then she would go back to the Wall, and to her life.

She shot Lennor a look, and the man nodded to Arthur.

"She's right," he said. "Hurry." He took the lead, with Arthur on his heels. Nasica was grateful, for it took Arthur's intense guilt and noble intentions away from pressuring her.

-0-0-

She had screamed and protested the best she could as they tortured Tristan. Her stomach still felt unsteady just from witnessing the scout's horrid treatment. And now that he lay unconscious, with spikes jutting out from each leg, one from his side, and one from the back of his shoulder, she wasn't sure if she should be equally horrified or relieved.

"Why?" she said aloud. The easterner's head moved slightly but he didn't look at her. It just angered Jaelynn. "Why hurt him! Your fight is with . . ." _What was her name?_ "Decia!"

The easterner looked to his men, who all chuckled.

"Not anymore," Estho said. "She's dead. She was the first we killed."

She stared at them. The marauders dispersed, as if there was nothing to do now until Tristan awoke. It baffled her. How could these men behave so wrongly? And how could they feel justified in treating Tristan this way?

Had Tristan been so bad in Rome? She'd heard all the rumors. For a few weeks, she'd bugged Vanora about it, asking what really happened, but not even the red-head knew for sure. It seemed as if no one knew—Bors never answered her either. Jaelynn wasn't so foolish to believe _no one_ knew, but she figured it had to be Arthur and Tristan who definitely knew, and those were two men she couldn't pry for information—especially information about the scout himself.

The rumors were that he was an assassin in Rome. She had a hard time believing that. Tristan acted somewhat offended at the title—in the tavern a few nights ago, he wasn't very happy with the drunk who'd called him that.

She knew Tristan was a violent man. Quiet, maybe introspective, but violent. She saw firsthand, on a few occasions, how deadly he could be. Slaughtering the Saxons (who deserved it, in her opinion) was one instance, and then seeing the carnage Tristan left right before he'd given himself up to the marauders . . .

_Why did he give himself up?_ It wasn't like him, unless he really believed that she and Vanora would be hurt. Jaelynn shuddered. Maybe it was good Tristan gave up then—she was sure Korab and Estho would kill them. But it wasn't often she saw Tristan give up.

In the back of her mind, where her imagination stirred, she thought Tristan would come charging in, and slaughter the marauders for even daring to lay a hand on her or Vanora. Tristan would kill them all, single-handedly, with no knight by his side. She'd seen it before, right?

But Tristan hadn't given up. The rational side of her mind told Jaelynn that while he could have charged in to the fray, if he had done so she and Vanora would be dead by now. _He did what was right. He had to give up, to save us._

She sighed,drawing a bored look from the one guard that the marauders left to watch over her. But he wasn't watching her. His eyes were on Tristan. The guard moved to Tristan's side. He removed the scout's gag, and then gave him a nudge in the arm. Tristan didn't move. Jaelynn knew what the guard was doing. _He's waiting to tell them when Tristan awakes._ She hoped Tristan wouldn't wake for some time.

What seemed like hours passed. Her eyes kept drifting to Tristan. The scout hadn't moved, but she could tell he was at least breathing. How she wanted to go to his side and help him, remove those cruel spikes from the wretched sea creature. Actually, the sea creature was probably in pain too, dying from having its spikes ripped off—

_You're such a silly girl._ Why she even thought of that, she didn't know, but if someone could read her thoughts, she would blush.

The guard stood suddenly and started walking down the tunnel towards the way they'd come. She assumed the rest of the marauders were elsewhere in the cave, probably eating or resting. She frowned as she considered her state—she hadn't eaten in a while. The marauders had fed her and Vanora a little bit of sustenance, but it was inadequate even then.

She shook her head free of those thoughts, and watched the marauder continue down the tunnel. Jaelynn moved her wrists, which were still bound and anchored to a stake in the rocks. She was able to move them a little, but just her hands from the stake.

"Jaelynn."

Her heart leapt up in her throat. It was such a quiet whisper, just a slight breath of air. She looked to the scout. His eyes were open and focused on her.

"Tristan!" she exclaimed as quietly as she could muster. She didn't want to draw the marauders back.

"Can you get free?" he asked. Again, his voice was non-existent, and his words just little more than breaths. Jaelynn frowned. Tristan's hands were tied behind his back, but he wasn't anchored to anything like she was. If he wasn't even trying to move to her or test his restraints, it was a sign of the severe pain he was in.

Jaelynn resolved herself to try at the restraints. She pulled on them, forcing her wrists apart before twisting one hand, then the other. Her skin was raw but she made herself not balk at the discomfort. It was nothing to what Tristan was feeling, she was sure.

Her hands wouldn't come free of the ropes, but she could see the progress she was making with the stake. Again, she forced her wrists apart, and slowly inched her hands to the end of the stake.

It paid off. Jaelynn smiled, a little more liberated. She looked to Tristan victoriously, but the scout only managed a weak smile back.

"Good," he whispered. She went to his side. Her hands hovered over his body, unsure of what to do. Her eyes honed in on the ropes around his wrists, and she started on them.

"No," he whispered. "No time. The guard will be back soon."

She stared at him, her hands still touching the ropes. _Had he been awake? For how long?_ He knew the guard was there, and had kept his consciousness a secret.

She kept going on the ropes, loosening them.

"Tristan—"

"My shoulder," he whispered, and even though it held no voice, she recognized it as a command. Slowly, she nodded, and turned her attention to the spike embedded about an inch into his shoulder. The skin around the spike was red and swollen. She could also see hints of purple, beneath the skin in inky lines. And then she saw the scar, the infamous scar.

She'd heard about such a mark, and wasn't oblivious to how the marauders had eluded to it. It was a crescent moon, and by it a cross, but the shorter line was crooked. Here it was, right in front of her.

Tristan _had_ been an assassin.

"Jaelynn."

She shook her head. _Focus. For Tristan._ Her breath came quicker, and her hands shook slightly as they reached for the spike. She drew a deep breath, and then held it. Her fingers touched the spike, and she easily saw how tense Tristan's body became. The muscles in his back tightened, and she could see his jaw was clenched hard.

She pulled the spike out.

Blood and fluids oozed from the small puncture. Tristan shook—it was like he was suffering from fever, but she knew he was conscious and lucid enough. She wanted to hold him, and comfort him, but any touch would have caused more pain. Jaelynn glanced at the spike in her hands before setting it aside, and moving for his legs.

"No," he said, his whisper coming out as a shudder. "Take it."

Jaelynn frowned. Her forehead crinkled deeply as she tried to figure out what—

"When the guard comes back, wait until his back is turned," Tristan said. He shut his eyes and swallowed. His face was pale and covered in sweat and bruises. "Aim for the neck, so he can't shout." He opened his eyes, finding hers directly.

Jaelynn just stared back. Tristan frowned.

"Do you understand?" he asked.

_Understand?_

Yes. She did. Too clearly. She nodded.

After several moments, she found her voice. "Let me get these others out—"

"No," he whispered quickly, so quickly she wondered if he feared having the spikes taken out. "After he's dead, go down the tunnel and then left. Don't go back the way we entered."

"You want me to leave you," she said. She blinked, and felt tears wetting her eyes. "I can't—"

"You will." He whispered it with such finality that Jaelynn couldn't argue. Footsteps sounded down the tunnel. The guard was returning. She glanced that way, and then back at Tristan.

He stared back, and she saw a familiar fire in his eyes. It wasn't the weary defeat, although he was tired. It was the defiance, the life that yet remained in him, and it gave Jaelynn hope.

"Go."

She seized the needled part of the sea creature and scrambled across the rock room, back to the stake. She set the spike by the wall, hidden partially by her body, and then she held to the stake as if she hadn't moved at all.

The guard came back, but he only glanced at Tristan. His attention was on Jaelynn. For a horrifying moment, she thought she'd been caught. But then the guard's expression changed. Slowly he grinned.

_No._

It was the look the drunk from the tavern had given her. The waning torchlight sent fiery rays that danced over the man's lusting look. He went to Jaelynn and pressed his body close to hers.

"No screams, or everyone will want a turn," he hissed. He grabbed her by her wrists, and pulled her away from the stake, not even realizing she'd essentially been free. Jaelynn's heart beat frantically, and she struggled against the man, but he was larger by far.

He wrestled her to the ground. Jaelynn didn't make a sound. She didn't want the other marauders to come, But she didn't want to be dishonored either.

He started to kiss her roughly. Terrified, Jaelynn pushed at him, but he was too heavy. _Think!_

Suddenly she kneed him, not catching the area she wanted to, but it made the marauder groan and let up a little. Jaelynn quickly pushed him away and scrambled for the spike she'd hidden. Her fingers grasped it as the marauder grabbed her by her waist and pulled her back.

She flipped the spike in her hands like she'd seen Tristan do often with one of his daggers. The point was away from her, but she kept the spike close to her body. The marauder dragged her to him, and flipped her on her back. As he hovered over her, Jaelynn swallowed any fear or horror she felt, and thrust the spike into the man's body.

The spike stuck out of the man's chest. It wasn't the neck hit that Tristan had said to go for, but judging by the marauder's frozen posture, it hurt badly. A groan came from his parted lips, and it started to get louder.

_No! He can't alert the others!_ She tried to move, but the marauder still hovered over her, his body and weight pinning hers down.

Suddenly she saw Tristan. Her eyes widened. The weakened scout's hands were free, and he used them to grab the man's head. He twisted, hard. Jaelynn's stomach lurched at the sickening pop. The marauder's neck went limp, and then the rest of his body as he slumped over. But Jaelynn watched Tristan.

He stood there, wavering. Her heart ached; he was in so much pain, actually standing with those awful spikes in his legs, and the one in his side. He started to fall, but caught himself on the wall. Jaelynn hurried to her feet and helped lower him to the ground.

The knight didn't make a sound. His body shook, his eyes were shut, but he didn't make one noise, one gasp.

"Tristan!" Her mind whirled. "How did you get free!"

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. "You loosened the ropes." His eyes closed again. Jaelynn glanced over him. Blood oozed around the spikes. Tristan's movement aggravated the wounds.

"Let me take these out," Jaelynn said.

"Go," Tristan responded. His eyes were open again, and she saw that fiery determination again. "Before the others come."

"We can both make it," she said, raising her chin a little. She reached for the spike in his side, ignoring the looks and whispers of protest. Before she could think about it or fear for Tristan, she yanked the spike out cleanly.

She heard a rush of breath, and for a moment it was almost a scream. It sounded like a ghost in agony. Guilt flooded Jaelynn, but she knew this was for the best. She moved to the spikes in his legs, and though Tristan tried to grab for her wrists to stop her, she beat him.

The two spikes in his legs were out one after the other.

Tristan writhed in agony. She could tell even that movement hurt him, but he was caught between trying to roll away the pain and not making it worse. His body shook harder than she thought possible. It was as if he were unclothed and bathing in an icy lake. But his skin was hot.

"Tristan," she called softly. "Tristan, calm down, please." The guilt returned. Jaelynn had to swallow back the large lump in her throat. She felt sick, but she couldn't let it overtake her, not now. She grabbed his hand, and started to pull him up.

"Jaelynn, no," he muttered. She stopped. From the corner of his eyes, she could see a tear.

Jaelynn froze. Horror descended on her like a torrential rain. She'd never seen a knight cry. She'd hardly seen a man cry, but never did she imagine it would be Tristan. Only under the worse circumstances . . . Jaelynn covered her mouth as a sob rose in throat.

"Go," Tristan managed to get out in his ragged whispers. "Find Arthur."

Tears fell down her own face. _What have I done?_ "Tristan, I'm sorry—"

"Hurry."

_There's no time. _Blinking the tears away, she nodded, even though his eyes were shut again.

"I'll bring him here," she said, her only way to apologize and promise any hope. He nodded slightly, and Jaelynn ran down the tunnel. She glanced back at his figure on the floor before going to the left.


	10. Vindicat Se De

a/n: You know, with all this angst and action, I just wanted to remind you that romance will be coming back into play amid all the drama. I feel bad as I look back at the first couple of chapters, how nice and sweet they were, and now we're here. It will lighten up, I promise. And we're only half-way or so through the story, so there's definitely more to come.

I hope you all are still enjoying this! This is a _long _chapter. Let me know your feedback! It really helps!

**Vindicat Se De**

Nasica knew they were close. For all her dislike of this assignment, she still felt the excitement of impending confrontation. She could smell the salt in the air. If her instincts were any indication, they would find the marauders, the girl and the scout.

She was ready for it. Her bow and arrow were still in hand, and she had a long dagger strapped to her side. Yes, she was ready. She and Lennor would lead the king and his knights to the marauders, rescue the girl if possible, and then head back to life. She looked forward to it—a friend of hers was expecting a baby soon, and she wanted to be there for the birth. She preferred new life to old death.

The hawk had returned, and suddenly it called out. Nasica frowned, glancing up at the bird, and then ahead. Was the fowl warning them?

She heard Arthur unsheathe his sword. The knights followed his example. Nasica wasn't a real believer in this bird, but she found herself raising her bow.

And then she saw movement. Her fingers tensed, so close to releasing the arrow. But she didn't see a marauder, or burly, savage man. Instead she saw a young woman, her hair messy and her clothes messier.

"Jaelynn!" It was Bors who yelled out. He kicked his horse forward, and galloped close enough until he could reach her. Nasica noted that the girl—Jaelynn—had her hands tied in front of her. Bors was so busy coddling the girl that he didn't notice. Nasica pulled her dagger free and approached the girl.

"Bors, they're killing him," Jaelynn was saying. Nasica raised an eyebrow. She got between the girl and Bors, and cut the ropes from Jaelynn's wrists. Jaelynn shot her an appreciative look.

"Which way?" Nasica asked. She heard the slight eagerness to her own voice, but she wanted to finish this soon, and coddling the girl more would just delay.

"Jaelynn, where are they?" Arthur said behind her, still atop his horse. The girl's brown eyes were large and fearful, but not for herself. She swallowed and then straightened her stance.

"This way," she said, turning back the way she'd come. Nasica had to give the girl credit for that. She shot a grin to Lennor, who seemed just as surprised, and then all took off after her.

-0-0-

When the marauders returned, wondering why they hadn't heard from their comrade yet, they were understandably angry. Tristan smiled tiredly as they shouted at him and stood over their friend's body.

He hadn't heard any commotion till now, and he was pretty sure he was conscious for most of the time. Jaelynn must have escaped successfully. _Good._ One thing that was going right.

But now, both because of their comrade's broken neck and Jaelynn's escape, the pain would start again. Tristan fully expected it. He found, though, that he was in far less pain if he just didn't move. That strategy wouldn't work much longer.

The easterner's eyes narrowed at the knight. Tristan could hardly see the man's eyes. Maybe it was the dim light, or maybe it was some side-affect of the spikes and pain.

"You will pay," the easterner vowed. "For him and village." Estho and Korab grabbed Tristan, meanly handling him over his wounds. Tristan went blind for a moment as the pain seized him. He gasped, or maybe he yelled out, but it came out quietly since his voice was gone.

"You _will_ pay, you Sarmatian scum," Estho hissed in his ear. Tristan turned his thoughts away from the pain. He was fine if he was to suffer for what he'd done. He wasn't sorry about the guard; he'd tried to hurt Jaelynn. But for the village, Tristan was content to die.

The rational side of him said he couldn't have known Decia would be rescued by Romans. But the other side of him told him he was a fool for not thinking of that. Hadn't his time in Rome taught him anything about Romans? It was only a matter of time—he'd doomed the village.

They dragged him back to the sea cave's entrance. The waves lapped in at the start of the cave. The marauders pulled him along, and dropped him in the middle of the tunnel between the sea and the depths of the cave. Tristan had no fight in him. He just winced at every movement and jolt he felt.

Korab and Estho tied his hands and feet. Tristan thought that was a bit funny. He could hardly move anyway. There were two stakes in the rocks, and they pulled on his limbs so the ropes were tied around the stakes as well. Each pull made Tristan want to scream, even if he would be heard.

He lay on the rocky ground. His eyes followed the easterner, who moved towards a spiky mass dripping on a rock ledge. Tristan felt his heart race. He knew what it was.

The easterner broke two spikes, and walked calmly, like an executioner, towards Tristan. An executioner would have been more welcome. Tristan didn't move though. He made himself hide any apprehension, and just wait.

Suddenly, the easterner stopped, and turned back to his men.

"Go," he said. "I speak with him alone."

Tristan glanced at the marauders. They didn't seem entirely happy about that, but they retreated to the other corners of the cave. The easterner turned back to Tristan. He sat by Tristan's side, and Tristan was confused by the look he had on his face. No longer was it intent on pain and suffering. Instead, the easterner looked . . . sad.

Even so, his voice stayed steady, and his eyes darkened as if he were steeling himself.

"Why did Arthur take you as knight?"

Tristan blinked. _Why ask this now?_

"I hear he is good man, but he takes assassins as knights," the easterner continued. Tristan wondered if he was actually curious or just trying to find more reason to hurt him. The easterner jabbed him in the side, sparking a new wave of pain through the wound. Tristan winced, gritting his teeth together.

"I was—" Tristan couldn't finish right away as his throat grated and made him cough. He tried to continue in his raspy, voiceless whispers. "I was a knight before."

"Hmm," the easterner grunted shortly. "He's no man of justice."

Tristan clenched his teeth together. He was being baited, but the easterner wanted answers, didn't he?

"He is," Tristan said. "He had compassion."

The easterner looked amused at that.

"Idiot," he said simply. Tristan raised an eyebrow—did he mean him or Arthur? "Where I come from, assassins are killed."

Tristan looked away, a slight smile on his lips.

"They should be."

This surprised the marauder. It was clearly etched on his face.

"You want me to kill you?" he asked. As if to show his support for it, the easterner held up the sea creature's spikes.

"I wouldn't blame you," the scout whispered. He looked at the easterner steadily, more steadily than he felt.

"Why my village?" he asked next. "It would be better you came and killed them yourself." _Instead of the Romans._ Yes, Tristan had to agree. He'd seen how badly Roman soldiers behaved, how they desecrated anything they could if they had a little leeway. If he'd killed the village himself, it would have been a cleaner death.

He couldn't look the man in the eye. Tristan stared at the stake where his feet were tied.

"It was meant to punish Decia," he said.

The easterner looked at him, his expression softening, pitying. Tristan was confused by that.

"We killed her and the Roman soldiers," the easterner said. His tone was conversational, all of a sudden. "It took time. Each death felt same." The easterner turned his gaze down the tunnel, at the sea, and the daylight shining there. "No satisfaction."

He glanced back at Tristan. "It is same for assassins."

"I killed because I had to," Tristan replied quietly. He winced as a sudden pain flared through him. The easterner quirked up an eyebrow.

"No satisfaction?"

Tristan thought about it. Did he get satisfaction from killing? _Not like that—not as an assassin._ He thought of Germanius, and when he'd killed him.

"Just one."

The easterner smiled. He eyed the spikes in his hands, and then dropped them. Tristan frowned, but the easterner stood and turned to the cave.

His men were standing there, clearly not as far away as the easterner originally ordered. Estho in particular was close, standing on the main tunnel floor, and looking like he was about to explode.

"Have a nice _chat_?" he asked sarcastically. Tristan felt his body tense. Was he crazy from the pain or was Estho confronting the leader?

"It is time," the easterner said. "We stop."

Estho sneered at him, and the marauders bristled. Tristan clearly heard the anger emanating throughout the cave. Then Korab stepped forward.

"We've taken this too far," Korab said, echoing the easterner's meaning. "We set out to take revenge on anyone who had connections to our village."

"It is too far, for this one," the easterner said, nodding at Tristan. Estho stepped forward.

"That's easy for you to say," he spat out. "It wasn't your wife we found _mangled_ because of him!" He gestured violently at the scout. "We came here to track those responsible, and we found _him_! We finish this!" The thought came briefly to Tristan that Estho reminded him of Galahad.

The easterner glared at him, at all of his men but Korab.

"It ends, now." He turned back to Tristan, and removed his dagger. He went to the scout's hands to cut the ropes away. Despite the situation, the easterner bore a saddened expression as he looked on Tristan.

And then, Tristan held the thud of an arrow as it forced its way through the easterner. The man swayed, stunned and dying, before falling by Tristan.

The marauders roared. Tristan hoped Estho would be the next to go, but he watched helplessly as the marauders cheered Estho's action. Korab looked enraged, but he was stabbed in the back before he could do anything.

Estho and the other marauders turned to Tristan. Estho broke off four more spikes, fresh from the sea creature, and moved to Tristan. The scout drew a deep breath.

It was Estho who did the honors this time. He inserted the spikes through Tristan's flesh again. They were in new spots. His left side. The underside of his right forearm. Another spot in his calf. And the top of his stomach, weaved into his skin and back out, like a needle holding cloth in place for a stitch.

His hoarse screams met the marauders' laughter. They mocked him, imitating his screams with no voice. The humiliation normally would have bothered him, but not now. His body burned, the new surge of poison from the creature spreading through his body. The stinging fire was almost too much to bear.

He wished he would pass out, but he couldn't make himself.

The marauders moved away, back to the rocky ledges to witness his torment. That's when the sound of waves registered to him. He felt droplets of seawater hit him. Moments later, the sound of waves came closer, and then the water splashed a bit more.

_The tide._

The next wave came, and it washed over him. The salt stung his wounds, and Tristan's mouth opened to express his pain. The water just flooded his mouth.

The wave receded, but just as quickly another was back. It covered Tristan's whole body this time. The worst was the movement of the water. It made his whole body move, and also the spikes. Someone might as well have been jiggling each wretched spike around in his flesh.

They were laughing still. Had they even stopped? Another wave came in, washing over Tristan and beyond. Each wave kept him underwater longer, and he knew it was only a matter of minutes before the tide would flood the entire tunnel.

_Just a few more minutes._

Despite the torment he felt physically, he was relieved.

-0-0-

"Stay here, Jaelynn," Arthur commanded. The king shot a look to Galahad, and the knight nodded and stayed back with her. They stood before a small hole in the earth, where Jaelynn said she'd crawled out of a sea cave.

He squeezed through the dirt and found himself in the dark cave. Bors, Gawain, and Lennor followed. Nasica parted company a ways back, going around another way, and Arthur had to admit he was glad to be rid of her for a little while.

The rocks were crammed around him. Arthur wondered if Bors would fit through. He moved ahead, not waiting for Bors or Gawain or Lennor.

He had to get to Tristan. His blood ran cold when he heard what Jaelynn said. _"They're killing him."_

That couldn't happen. He just wouldn't stand for it.

He ran through the tunnels, following his senses—until he heard laughter echoing down one way.

-0-0-

Nasica watched. She felt ill, seeing what the marauders had done. Each time a wave receded, she saw the Sarmatian scout tied to the ground, with long black spikes sticking from various parts of his body. The marauders watched him greedily, feeding on his suffering. The scout was drowning, she knew. He wouldn't last much longer.

Nasica clung to the rocks, hanging down and pressed against the cave walls. The seawater pushed by her, making her move slightly, but no one had seen her. There were seven marauders that she could see, plus at least two dead. She wondered what happened—they looked fresh.

No matter what she thought about the scout, she didn't want him to die like this. Her eyes flickered to the darkness in the cave, beyond the men. _Where is Arthur?_

A battle cry echoed through the tunnel, and Nasica almost slipped from her position.

_About time!_

He, Lennor, Gawain and Bors immediately charged the men. With their first strokes, two marauders fell. But then the element of surprise was gone.

Nasica let herself drop. She fell into the water, and the current pushed her forward. She swam with it, and dove beneath the water where she thought the scout was.

She touched the bottom of the rocky cave. Feeling around, she came up empty. Nasica glanced further down the cave. Three more marauders were dead. _Two left._

The waves pulled her back a bit, and at that moment, she saw the scout. His head was tilted up, trying to get air. He was choking on the water. Nasica dove with the next wave. As she swam beneath the water, she pulled out her dagger.

She opened her eyes beneath the water, ignoring the salty sting. The scout lay there, but he didn't struggle. The spikes probably deterred him from it. Nasica swam to his hands, still tied to the stake. She cut through them quickly, and then pulled on his arms. She saw his mouth open as the movement jarred his forearm where the spike was.

She kept pulling him up, and his head and hers broke the surface. Immediately, she went back down, and cut the bindings around his feet. Her eyes zeroed in on the spike through his calf. Nausea turned her stomach, but she ignored it as best she could.

Coming up to the surface, she found that only one man remained. He dove at her and the scout.

His eyes were wide, and the look on his face was one of madness. Nasica grabbed Tristan around the waist and started to swim. She heard him gasp, and then she felt the spikes in his side and stomach. She released him, and grabbed his left arm—spike-free.

"Come on, scout," she said semi-encouragingly. The deranged marauder was gaining on them. Only a few more strokes, and he'd be there. Nasica released the scout and turned to the marauder. She twirled her dagger in her hand.

But she turned too late. Suddenly he was right there in front of her. He swung with a short blade and caught her arm. Nasica ducked beneath the water for protection, wincing at the slight cut and sting from her arm.

_The scout!_

She pushed herself above the water, searching for the scout.

The marauder had him. He held Tristan against him with the knife against Tristan's throat.

"Romans! Dogs!" he spat. "Killers, all of you!" Nasica glanced nervously at Arthur and the knights. They were on the rocky ledges, too far away. She was the only one close enough, but she didn't think she could do anything fast enough to save Arthur's scout. They were at least waist deep in the seawater, and when the waves came, it almost covered them.

Tristan's mouth was open, and his eyes shut, as if he were trying to shut out the pain itself. His hands were free, but the spike in his right forearm hindered him. Nasica could see the redness around the wound, and not just blood.

"You took two women, and tortured my knight," Arthur shouted above the roar of the ocean. His lip curled up angrily, something Nasica didn't see often. "I don't know your reasons, but you will _not_ kill him."

The marauder grinned evilly.

"He's responsible for the death of an entire village," he said, jostling the knight in his grasp. Tristan let out a hoarse yelp. His eyes opened again, but he didn't look at Arthur or the knights. He looked down the cave, towards the sea.

Towards the coming wave, Nasica realized, following his gaze. Just a few more seconds and it would cover them.

The marauder drew his arm back as if he would dramatically slit the scout's throat. Nasica heard the knights gasp and the king shout out a vain objection. That's when Tristan struck.

Nasica's eyes widened. The scout lifted his right arm. Even though it must have hurt just to lift it, he swung his arm towards the marauder. He screamed as he used the spike in his arm to stab the man, but Nasica didn't hear it. She _did_ hear the marauder scream. But it morphed into a gurgled cry. Tristan's chest heaved as he kept his arm up, the spike embedded in the marauder's neck and still in his own arm.

The waves moved him, and the dying marauder slipped beneath the water. Tristan was forced with it, the spike pulling on his arm.

"No!" Arthur shouted. Nasica snapped out of the intensity of the situation and dove beneath the water. She caught Tristan about the waist with one arm and reached for the spike with the other. Before he could sink further, Nasica pulled the spike from his arm and the dead marauder's neck.

Something splashed near them, and Nasica came up above the water in time to see Arthur in the water. She kept her hold around Tristan's waist. His breathing was labored, and she felt his body tense and cringe. _His stomach._

Arthur swam to them and reached out to help.

"Careful," she warned, pushing him towards Arthur. "He has the needles in his stomach and side." Her leg accidentally hit the scout's, and he gasped. "And his leg."

The scout's face was twisted in pain as the knights pulled him out of the water.

Arthur gasped when he saw the spikes and pulled himself up to the ledge. They gingerly laid the scout down on the rocky ledge. Bors just stared, unsure of what they were or what to do about them.

"Sea urchin," Arthur said. He knelt by the scout's head. "Tristan!" The scout winced and turned his head away from the king. His body was shaking; Nasica could see the goosebumps over his chest. Ink-like streaks of purple spread around puncture wounds and around the spikes.

"What did they do to him?" Gawain wondered aloud. "Do we take out the spikes?"

Arthur frowned. He glanced to Nasica. "Do you have any healing skills?"

Nasica, still dripping seawater, shook her head.

"Lennor," Arthur called. "Bring Jaelynn and Galahad with the horses, to the entrance of the cave." He looked down grimly at his knight. "We'll have to wait for the tide, but he cannot move like this on his own."

Nasica watched the knight retreat into the dark caves.

Gawain took off his cloak, and laid it over Tristan. Galahad was tearing some cloth, and passed a strip to Arthur. The king quickly bound the scout's forearm.

"Tristan," the king called, his voice gentler now. The scout tried to focus on him "We're going to remove the spikes."

A look of dread passed over the knight's face, but he gave one nod. Arthur drew a deep breath, and touched the spike in the knight's side.

"Wait," the scout whispered. Nasica wondered why he kept whispering. The king looked to him. "Hold me down." There was a brief moment of surprise over Arthur, but he nodded, and looked to the knights and Nasica.

"Hold him down," Arthur said. Gawain moved to the knight's left side, holding down his arm and head. Bors tried to hold the man's legs down as gently as he could. Nasica knelt by Arthur, and placed her hands over his hips.

Arthur pulled the spike out quickly. Immediately Nasica felt the knight buck his body against the pain, but she and the knights held him fast.

The one in the calf came out next. A horrid but quiet sound came roughly from the scout's throat, and it made Nasica sick. It was when the spike over his stomach came out that Tristan made some inhuman noise of agony. It did Nasica in.

"Arthur," she said a bit numbly. Suddenly she stood, and moved away, covering her mouth. She was going to be sick right there if she didn't get away.

-0-0-

Jaelynn's heart leapt when she saw the Briton. He crawled out of the cave.

"He's alive," he said first. Jaelynn was grateful for that. "Arthur wants us to take the horses to the cave entrance. They're waiting inside."

"Is he all right?" Galahad asked. Jaelynn had tried to tell him what happened but couldn't really find the words. Lennor hesitated.

"He's alive."

They moved quickly, with Jaelynn almost leading the way on foot. The men handled the horses, and that was fine with her. Her mind couldn't think of anyone but Tristan. She kept imagining horrid things being done to him. The marauders would have been angry when she escaped.

Her eyes welled up with tears. Jaelynn quickly wiped them away. The salty drops on her hand made her think of Tristan—of his tears.

A lump rose in her throat.

They came to the sea, but the water was high. She scowled at it. They would have to wait until the water drew back.

-0-0-

_He could see Decia as he left her in the village. She was screaming after him, flinging insults, pleas, and tears. Tristan just smiled and rode away._

_Suddenly, Roman soldiers rode through the village. Tristan stood off to the side, only a witness to the gruesome slaughter. The Romans' anger at seeing Decia as a slave made them do the most dishonorable acts. _

_The Romans rode away, with Decia holding her head high again. Tristan stood nearly frozen, watching the remnants of death and life. Guilt and hatred for himself ate away at his soul._

_It wasn't long before the men of the village returned. Tristan recognized each of them. They scoured the village for living loved ones._

_He saw the easterner, and the easterner saw him. Tristan reached for his sword, but found he had no weapons. But the easterner didn't draw his either._

"_You killed them," he said. _

"_I'm sorry," Tristan said back. "For your village." _

_  
The easterner didn't say anything. Unnerved, Tristan kept talking._

"_I did not mean for them to come," Tristan said._

"_You should have died." The easterner's face was solid. Tristan couldn't argue with him. And then suddenly the easterner's head was severed by some unseen foe. The body fell to the earth, and the head rolled around. Even so, the head faced Tristan and spoke._

"_Tristan."_

His eyes shot open. Immediately he felt pain accompany his wakefulness.

"Tristan," he heard. He moved his head slowly to see who called him. It was Arthur. The king wore a concerned look that was so familiar that Tristan wondered if Arthur ever smiled anymore.

"Drink some water," Arthur said. He held a leather pouch to Tristan's lips. The scout took it, but he cringed when the cool liquid hit his throat. "Are you hurting?"

Tristan didn't really want to answer that. Suddenly, he wondered when Arthur even came. Tristan glanced around. They were outside, somewhere in the forest. _How long has it been?_

He noticed the movement next—he was on a horse, riding with Arthur. In other circumstances, he might have been offended at that. But he was too weak to argue, and he knew he would have fallen by now if not for Arthur.

Even so, the horse's movement, each step, triggered pain from Tristan's wounds. He gasped as the horse leapt over a fallen log.

"Tristan?"

Were the spikes still in him? No, the pain wasn't that intense.

_Where's Jaelynn?_

He remembered a woman rescuing him. Was it her? _No._ She had gray eyes.

It hurt to think. It hurt to feel. He didn't want to feel. He drifted off before he heard Arthur call his name again.

-0-0-

"Does he always whisper?" Nasica asked, nodding at the scout. Arthur glanced from his horse down to the Briton woman. Her blonde hair was tangled from the seawater, but they all looked a little worse for wear. Especially Tristan.

Arthur looked at the knight. He was slouched, sitting in front of Arthur. Arthur held his arms like a wall around him.

"No," Arthur answered. "But he doesn't speak much."

Nasica studied the scout, but looked up as Galahad spurred his horse closer to them. Jaelynn sat behind him.

"He lost his voice," Jaelynn said. Arthur stared at her, then looked at the knight before him.

"Did he fall ill?" Arthur asked. He realized how stupid that sounded, but Jaelynn knew what he meant. She shook her head.

"No. Well yes, but that's not why his voice . . . " she stammered. "He . . . wore it out." A pang hit Arthur's heart. Looking to Jaelynn, Arthur saw her eyes were full and round, studying the knight sadly. Arthur understood that sadness. For him, it was guilt, yet again.

But for Jaelynn, he wondered if it was something more. He'd heard the other knights and even Vanora tease Tristan here and there about Jaelynn. Maybe they weren't joking idly.

"Arthur, how far are we?" Jaelynn asked. Arthur glanced at the skyline ahead. He noticed the hawk was back, circling ahead as if to hurry their pace home.

"If we ride through the night, we'll be back by dawn." The king looked to Nasica. "Do you agree?"

The Briton woman nodded. Arthur wondered why she was so eager to get home; she didn't come enthusiastically on this mission, though she performed well. He'd noticed her here and there over the last two years. Guinevere thought the world of her, but Arthur found the woman to be a bit cold. Not towards him, but to the knights. Maybe it was lingering bad blood, from years of hunting down Woads for Rome.

Tristan's head rolled slightly. Arthur wondered if the knight would wake.

Suddenly, the scout looked up, alert and panicked. Arthur tensed but before Tristan could lash out defensively, the panic left him.

"Tristan?" he said. The scout sat up straighter.

"Stop," he rasped. Arthur pulled up sharply on the reins, and barley caught Tristan as he clambered off the horse. The cloak they put around him fell off, leaving him exposed from the waist up. Tristan fell to his knees, his legs unable to support his malnourished body. Arthur dismounted hastily, and went to the scout's side. Tristan braced himself up with one arm, but suddenly his face contorted.

"Tristan, what's wrong?" Arthur asked. Jaelynn plopped down from Galahad's mount and echoed his question. Arthur noticed the hand she laid on his head, brushing his braided hair aside.

Tristan grasped his stomach with his other arm. Suddenly he heaved, falling on all fours. Arthur laid a consoling hand on the scout's bare back. Tristan's skin was clammy, and he was shivering.

He heaved again, but purged nothing. He gasped and squinted his eyes shut. He gingerly let himself fall to his side. Arthur quickly grabbed the cloak and put it over him.

"Tristan," Arthur prompted. The scout slowly opened his eyes. He swallowed over and over again before speaking.

Or whispering.

"Don't feel well," he said. Arthur could have shaken him in frustration if it wouldn't have hurt the scout.

"What do you need?"

Tristan just shook his head and lay on the ground. He pulled the cloak closer to him.

Arthur turned to Gawain and Bors.

"We'll camp over there," he said pointing, "by the trees. Build a fire. Galahad!"

The younger knight straightened up.

"You and Lennor find some food." He glanced back at the knight, trying to hide the obvious worry he felt. "He needs it."

-0-0-

The first thing that he noticed was dry heat coming towards him in waves. Opening his eyes, Tristan saw the fire dancing in front of him. He was as close to it as he could be safely.

Without moving, he glanced beyond the fire. Arthur, Gawain and Bors were sleeping. He saw Jaelynn's form too. Galahad and Lennor sat on opposite ends of the makeshift camp, both awake and keeping watch.

"Here," he heard someone say quietly from behind him. Tristan turned his head to see who it was.

A Woad. One he'd seen with Guinevere often. She had blonde hair, and gray eyes. In her hands was a waterskin. Tristan nodded once and reached with his left arm for the skin. He made himself sit up, drawing Galahad's attention, but he knew Galahad wouldn't come over. They were never that close.

He felt her watching him as he drank.

"_Come on, scout."_

He looked to her suddenly. _It was her in the cave._ She had freed him from drowning. He handed the waterskin back.

"You should eat," she said. She leaned near the fire where remnants of some animal stayed warm. Her hands pulled deftly at the meat, and she placed it on a little dish of sorts before handing it to him.

A shiver ran through Tristan as he had to relinquish some of the cloak to handle the food. His stomach was empty, no doubt, but he wasn't completely excited to eat. He still felt nauseous. He wasn't sure if it still was the poison from the sea creature.

Carefully, he used his right hand to eat. He studied the cloth binding his forearm. It didn't hurt as much anymore. It was sore, but the piercing and fiery pain from before was gone.

"Are you going to eat or stare at yourself?" the Woad asked, a hint of amusement in her tone. Tristan flickered a glance at her from behind his hair. In response, he picked up a piece of the meat and started chewing on it.

"How's the pain?" she asked next. Tristan swallowed gingerly, his throat still a bit sore.

"Better," he said simply in his whispered tones. She shot him a look. He shrugged. "Still sore, but not bad." He picked up another chunk of meat.

"You really don't talk a lot, do you?" she asked. Tristan half-smiled. His reputation was at work again.

"What's your name?" he asked. She looked surprised that she hadn't initiated that. The blonde Woad smiled.

"Nasica." _Pretty_, he thought. So was she, but he didn't want to dwell on that while his senses were so dull right now.

Tristan nodded. "I've seen you around the fort." She raised an eyebrow.

"I would hope so," she said. "I've been there since the battle with the Saxons. You're a scout; you should notice some things."

Tristan didn't feel like mentioning he wasn't around for that first year, but that wasn't really an excuse. And was she being playful with him, or condescending? He felt an unfamiliar lightness to his heart. He cleared his raspy throat.

His stomach felt full, though he knew he'd eaten little. He set the dish aside.

"Thanks," he whispered. He glanced down at his chest, pulling the cloak back to see the damage. He could see some seep-through of blood on the cloths over his stomach and side. His slight movement caused a shock, almost a jolt, of pain up his abdomen and chest. He bit down on his lip and leaned back.

Nasica watched him.

"Arthur wants the bandages to be changed soon," she said. "I have everything ready." She nodded at a clump of items to her side. Tristan glanced at them, then back at her.

"It can wait till the Wall." She raised an eyebrow at this.

"Arthur doesn't think so. I don't either," she said. She picked up some cloths and a little pouch.

"No," Tristan said, a little more urgently. She stopped, frowning. "It can wait." He didn't like the strange look she was giving him. Tristan shifted his body against a tree trunk, leaning back to relieve some of his soreness. He brought the cloak closer around him, and tried not to appear uneasy.

Based on Nasica's continued staring, he failed. But he didn't care too much. He had his reasons.

He wanted to delay cleaning out his wounds for now. The pain, even if he amplified its memory in his mind, wasn't something he wanted to aggravate again for awhile.

"Whatever you say, scout," the blonde woman said. She rolled her eyes and settled back down to rest. Tristan opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't think of anything prudent.

He watched her for a few moments. In the firelight, she looker warmer than her personality. Even so, he smiled faintly before gingerly laying himself down.

He didn't noticed Jaelynn watching across the camp.


	11. Trying Something New

**a/n:** Okay, another long but hopefully good chapter. Don't get too worried at the end. I'll post another chapter on Thursday or Friday. I didn't even want to break up this chapter, but it's so long as it is! Anyway, enjoy! And review! I love the reviews!

**Trying Something New**

Tristan had stayed in his room at the Wall for two days now. Vanora said that he was healing fine, but was very weak. Jaelynn noticed that when she visited him briefly. He appeared thinner even.

She was getting restless now. Jaelynn wanted to go see him again, but she didn't want to disturb him. Plus, Vanora's kids were constantly begging for her attention. It seems her absence was hard on them, and based on how they all tackled her when she got back, she imagined Vanora was relieved too—if nothing else, the kids had their favorite person back to pester.

She was happy to be back, but two things weighed heavily on her mind. The first, obviously, was Tristan and his recovery. For him to actually stay tucked away in his room for two days was an indication. She still felt guilty for pulling those spikes from him, before she escaped from the marauders. But she knew it was the right thing to do—maybe, though, not the gentlest method.

He didn't hold a grudge. When she managed to find a moment to speak with him on the journey back, he had smiled tiredly and said she did well in finding Arthur. He even thanked her. She'd blushed, of course, but then Galahad piped up some boring talk among the knights, and she lost her moment to thank Tristan for . . . _everything_. For saving her from that guard. For giving himself up to protect her. She wanted to apologize too: for not being able to do _something_ to save him from the torture the marauders dealt him.

She sighed wearily. She could still hear his screams at night. When she closed her eyes, she saw him writhing in agony, with spikes jutting out from his skin.

The second thing that bothered her was what she'd noticed between Nasica and Tristan. It wasn't just their exchange at the camp the other night. The rest of the journey back to the Wall, his gaze kept drifting to Nasica. When they stopped, he didn't speak to her, and she didn't speak to him, but Tristan was being more than observant.

She was being silly, she told herself. Tristan wasn't courting Nasica. And he wasn't courting Jaelynn. She wished it at times, but other times she was well aware that Bors, Vanora, Gawain and even Galahad teased Tristan about her. It was an awful feeling, being the end of a joke. It made her wish that she'd never been so obvious, or rather, that she just didn't feel anything beyond friendship for the silent scout.

Maybe what she saw between them was just enough to torment her and remind her that she didn't stand a chance with Tristan.

Jaelynn groaned to herself. She needed something to do, something other than sulking.

She went to the healer's area. The healer, Hilden, was a shorter man with shorn black hair. He was probably Arthur's age, and was well-reputed. He fit in well at the wall, and Jaelynn found him agreeable.

Hilden looked up from a book he studied when Jaelynn came in.

"Ah, Jaelynn," he greeted, setting the book aside. "Do I need to check on Tristan?" He stood up, but Jaelynn shook her head.

"That's not why I'm here," she said, forcing a pleasant smile on her face. "I wondered if . . ." _How do I do this?_ "I've been looking for work, and thought maybe, if you were all right with it, I could work with you."

Hilden raised an eyebrow, but he didn't come back with a speech about her being too young. Jaelynn was tense in anticipation of such a reaction. She was so used to people perceiving her as a girl, instead of a young woman. She straightened up as Hilden spoke.

"Well, I imagine I'd have to teach you a lot," he said. "Are you willing to learn?"

Jaelynn nodded. "Of course. I can read and write, and I could study your books or try anything." Hilden chuckled.

"Are you sure, though?" he asked, his laughter dying off. "People don't just have slight fevers and splinters around here. One of the knights, for example, could need help. They could be bleeding, near death, and I would need you to be calm."

The image of Tristan writhing on the cave floor came to her mind. She remembered the blood when he'd been shot by that crossbow two years ago. She remembered her father, dying quickly after the Saxons spilt his blood.

She held her head evenly and looked Hilden directly in the eyes.

"I understand," she said. Slowly, Hilden smiled.

"Then welcome to earning your keep in medicine," he said. "Hey, I thought you were to become a seamstress."

Jaelynn shook her head. After the disaster at the tavern, Jaelynn had gone to the dressmakers and asked for a job, but she knew it was not for her within the first two days. And after that, well, the marauders came.

"I want to do something . . . better," she said. Hilden offered her a tame smile.

"I understand." It started to hit Jaelynn then that she did indeed have a job now—something she would be proud of doing. The elation and glee descended on her, but she fought to keep it contained.

"Well," Hilden said, turning to a bookshelf. "You can start by reading this, after, of course, you come with me to check on Tristan."

Jaelynn's stomach dropped, but she kept up her smile. _Hilden doesn't think that's why I want to do this, does he?_ Was he in on the so-called joke about her and Tristan? But for all her worry, Hilden didn't seem to be winking at her or nudging her side as if it were a joke. She watched as he gathered some ointment and bandages, and then turned to her expectantly.

She didn't know if she was ready to see Tristan again, now that the moment was upon her. She shook her head to herself. Now wasn't the time. She was _working_—it wasn't anything to be nervous about.

Jaelynn threw that thought out the window when she and Hilden entered Tristan's room. The knight was propped up so he was sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall—and he was shirtless.

Maybe more, for he grabbed the covers of his bed and pulled them tighter around him. Jaelynn tried not to blush, and just followed Hilden's manner.

"Time for some more ointment," Hilden said, nodding like a comrade to the knight. Tristan nodded. "How's your throat feeling?"

Tristan shot him an expressionless look. "Does this answer your question?" he rasped. Jaelynn fought back a smile as Hilden frowned at the scout.

"Jaelynn, come help please," Hilden said, leaning over Tristan. She froze. Then it dawned on her how it would look if they saw how awkward she was acting, and she set the book down that Hilden had given her, and moved to his side.

Hilden was checking Tristan's arm, but didn't seem to think it was in need of the ointment.

"Lie back," he said, pushing Tristan before he could object. Jaelynn could see the tension in his muscles, but she tried not to make it worse by staring too much.

"Jaelynn's going to learn healing," Hilden said. He pulled the bandages away from Tristan's torso and passed the used cloths to Jaelynn. Jaelynn tried not to stare at the blood and fluids on the cloths. There wasn't much, so Tristan was healing, but still . . . She quickly folded them and set them aside. "Look here," Hilden said, drawing her attention. She leaned over the patient, and tried not to make eye contact with him. _You're being stupid!_ _Stop acting like he's just some stranger._ She swallowed, and focused on what Hilden was showing her.

He applied the ointment to the small circular wounds in Tristan's sides, and also the ones over his stomach. Jaelynn noticed how defined the scout's muscles were there, and she sensed she would blush if she didn't do something quick.

"Have you seen your hawk yet?" Jaelynn blurted out. She didn't know why she chose those words, especially since they were so random, but both Tristan and Hilden looked at her. Tristan's eyes softened, and she could see him breathing easier. The tension let up from his body.

"No," he whispered. Jaelynn smiled.

"She's been around," she said. "I see her circling the fort a lot. She must miss you."

Hilden turned back to the work at hand, but he didn't interrupt the talk. Jaelynn found it easier when the healer handed her the next bandage.

"I'll look for her later today," Tristan said.

"Make sure you have someone with you when you leave the room," Hilden said. "You cannot strain yourself."

Annoyance covered Tristan's face, and Jaelynn frowned. She tried to ease the scout's mood.

"If you want, I can come back," she offered, again hoping she wasn't turning red. "Or I can find Bors or Arthur."

Tristan didn't say anything but he gave her a short nod. What that meant, she didn't know, but her attention was drawn to his legs next. Hilden passed her the ointment.

"Apply it gently over the wound, and cover beyond it," the healer instructed. "It's always good to cover a little more, to prevent infection." The ointment was warm and thick, but her hands felt shaky as she tended the wounds in Tristan's legs. She tried not to focus on the pink flesh showing beneath the skin. Her eyes wandered, and she noticed that his pants, thankfully _on_ him, were rolled up to his knees. _Probably so it doesn't aggravate the wounds._

She felt proud of herself briefly for that little observation.

"Well done," Hilden said. He pulled the bedding over Tristan's legs as if he'd get cold otherwise, and then gathered the dirty bandages. Jaelynn tried to help, and then grabbed her new book to study.

"Make sure you _eat_, Tristan, or you won't be walking far," Hilden said, a scolding look on his face. Tristan shrugged back.

Jaelynn followed Hilden out the door, but turned back and flashed the knight a smile. She felt relieved when he smiled back.

"You did very well, Jaelynn," Hilden said, interrupting her moment to bask in the smile she'd just received. "You have a great bedside manner."

Jaelynn frowned. "What do you mean?" She wasn't familiar with the term.

"You make the patient feel comfortable," he explained. "That's difficult to do when someone is ill."

Jaelynn tried to shrug it off. "I know him."

"Yes, but we all know he's a difficult one, the scout," Hilden said, chuckling a bit. "Just remember to try and be their friend while you tend them, and you'll be better than me."

He strode ahead, leaving Jaelynn behind in the hall, caught between feeling awkward and pleased with herself.

-0-0-

Tristan cringed as he walked through the fort. His lower legs were still tender, but he could walk steadily enough. It was time he just got over the pain, accept it or ignore it. Hilden, the healer, had been after him about going out so often, so soon, but Hilden always over-worried.

He'd been back now for five days. After being in Rome and returning to the wall, he had felt awkward and out of place. That feeling was back now.

The people cast glances at him, and he saw the usual gossips whispering to each other. He wondered what they were saying, but didn't really care enough to find out.

The market area was mildly active. Tristan strolled through, his hand covering his left side—though he didn't realize it. Two Briton women were speaking over some fruit, and they stopped mid-sentence to stare as he passed. And then they smiled at him.

Tristan frowned. Maybe the sea urchin's poison wasn't completely gone from his body.

He turned and cut between a couple of market stalls, and down a path between a bakery and some other merchant. Ahead was a blacksmith's shop. Tristan entered, and felt a warm rush of steam and fire. It was pleasant for the moment, after walking around in the cold.

"Sir Tristan," the smithy greeted. Tristan shot him a look. No one addressed him as 'sir,' and the smithy was well aware of it. The man grinned, baring a few missing teeth. "I thought you were still bedridden."

Tristan renewed his glare. The smithy was just rubbing it in now.

"Well, what do you need?" The smithy turned to the fire and stoked it. A rush of ash flooded the air, making Tristan's throat tickle. The scout glanced around the shop. He saw an assortment of blades on the wall, and frowned.

"Sword," he said. His voice was returning a bit, but it still sounded like a scratchy rasp, and not his normal smooth accent and lilting intonation.

"What happened to yours?" The smithy went to the wall of swords and started pulling down a few.

"Lost it," Tristan said. He felt a renewal of bitterness run through him. He couldn't remember where exactly his sword had been left, but he didn't have it anymore. The smithy stared incredulously.

"That's what you get for not taking care of it," he chided. Tristan resisted the urge to react or jump at the man and slit his throat with one of the swords. "Here, try this."

The smithy handed him a generic sword. It felt too light and short in Tristan's hands. He shook his head and passed the sword back. The smithy began to hand him another one.

"Not these," Tristan said. The smithy looked briefly offended, but Tristan didn't care. He went over to a piece of parchment and a well of ink, and began to sketch exactly what he had in mind. As it came together, the smithy whistled.

"It'll cost you," he declared. Tristan stared blankly at him. "I'll get working on it." The scout nodded, and left the smithy's shop.

On his way back, he stopped by the council room. He expected to find it empty, but instead, he heard voices talking animatedly. Tristan knocked once on the doors and entered the room.

The other knights were there, as were Guinevere, Arthur and some Britons. His eyes found one of them immediately—Nasica.

"Tristan," Arthur greeted. "You should be resting." Tristan glared at him, and took his usual seat. A slight chuckle rippled through the company.

"What'd I miss?" Tristan asked. He instantly regretted speaking, for his voice cracked and cut out all together. It drew a laugh from Bors, but Tristan showed no reaction to it. He noticed Nasica grinned, but at least she kept herself silent.

Arthur cleared his throat.

"A caravan of Romans was sighted," Arthur said. Tristan suddenly felt a little cold. "They're two days away."

He knew everyone was staring at him. He wondered if they thought the Romans had come for him. He doubted it, after two years, but he still didn't leap for joy any time Romans were around.

"We were not expecting them," Arthur continued. "We ride out tomorrow to meet them. I'd prefer if you stay here."

That, he figured, was not just because of his health. He nodded once.

The council continued making little plans for a few more minutes, and then dispersed. Tristan stood slowly. He suspected Arthur would want to talk with him, and it looked like Arthur was delaying to do just that. But Guinevere called to him, and the couple left.

He turned to leave, and ended up meeting Nasica at the door. There was an awkward moment as both fumbled to leave first. Tristan mumbled an apology and stood aside. Nasica smiled tightly, but she didn't leave.

"So it's true then," she said. Tristan frowned.

"What?"

"You and Rome," she said. "You were an assassin there. That's why Arthur wants you to stay behind."

Tristan stood stiffly. Was he supposed to answer that?

"Did that have anything to do with the marauders? Is that why they tortured you?"

She was blunt and to the point, he had to give her that. Tristan wasn't sure if he should just walk out or stay. For some reason, he stayed.

"Yes."

Nasica looked surprised that he said that. Her gray eyes lightened.

"Well." She shifted her stance by the door. "No matter what, no one should suffer like you did." And then she left.

Tristan stared after, confused. Was she just condemning him, or forgiving him? Not that she had any direct consequence from his past, but still . . .

He shook his head, sending his hair covering his vision. He needed a drink.

-0-0-

"How do you like the healing arts?" Vanora asked. Jaelynn stood by her side, washing the linens from their makeshift home. The whole family lived inside the Wall now, but only until they could rebuild the estate. It was a bit snug, but Jaelynn liked being at the Wall.

"It's confusing," Jaelynn admitted. "Not everything, but the books Hilden has me read are very detailed. I just don't understand it all."

Vanora chuckled and passed Jaelynn a damp linen to hang.

"You've barely started learning," she said. "Hilden doesn't expect you to perform a surgery on anyone yet. You're helping him."

Jaelynn shrugged. "I guess."

"Do you not like it?"

"No, no," Jaelynn quickly said. "No, I really like it." She smiled to herself. "I'm _doing _something, earning my way. It's good. And I'm helping people."

Vanora smiled. She took another linen and submerged it in a basin of sudsy water.

"I think it's great you are learning a skill and working," she said. Vanora stopped what she was doing, and watched Jaelynn work. "You've grown up so quickly, even in just two years."

Jaelynn smiled tightly, but said nothing. These moments with Vanora were dear to her, but Jaelynn felt she was too old for them. Vanora wasn't her mother.

"Bors and I have been talking," Vanora said, turning back to the linens. "We think we can rebuild the house when it gets warmer." She sighed wistfully. "It'll be nice to be back in our own home, don't you think?"

Jaelynn nodded, but inside felt differently. She opened her mouth, shut it, and tried again.

"Vanora," she started. She took a deep breath. "Do you think I should find a place of my own, when spring comes?"

She didn't dare look at Vanora's face, but she heard the redhead hesitate before soaking the linen again in the water.

"Are you really asking," Vanora said, "or do you want to be on your own?" She offered a small, knowing smile. Jaelynn slowly returned the smile.

"I don't know," she decided on. "I just . . ." She wished she had thought this through more. Actually, she'd thought it through plenty, but she wished she knew how to explain it. There were plenty of girls—women—her age who were now on their own. Or already married, but she was glad that wasn't the case for her. And she really didn't want to burden Vanora or Bors anymore. They had their kids, and while she felt accepted there . . . it was time to move on.

Jaelynn cleared her throat. "I thought, if I'm any good at healing, I'll be needed here." She tried to sell the reason by looking steadfastly at Vanora. The redhead grinned, and nodded back.

"Of course."

Jaelynn knew she'd failed, just from Vanora's tone. The woman was humoring her. But she wasn't angry. When Jaelynn looked up, she could see that. Vanora understood. Jaelynn would always love that about her. As they resumed their housework, Vanora cleared her throat and said:

"Well, I can help you find a good room here."

Jaelynn grinned. She was so relieved that Vanora hadn't been hurt.

"Jaelynn!" Someone came running into the room. It was Nasica. The Briton's hair was wind-blown and her face was flush from running.

"Hilden needs you, now! My friend is having her child!" Nasica blurted out. She quickly turned for the door, but waited enough to wave for Jaelynn to follow.

Jaelynn blinked once as the urgency set in and then ran out the door.

-0-0-

The birth was long, and loud. Jaelynn found herself never wanting children after what she witnessed, but somehow she held it together.

She spent the excruciating hours bringing cold and hot water in, removing cloths and bringing in new ones, and generally trying to not throw up. How Hilden did this—no, how _women_ did this, she did not know.

But she bit her lip and tried to dull her hearing amidst the screams of pain. The woman in labor was a widow. Her husband died from an accident months ago. Nasica seemed to be the woman's good friend. As the intensity of the final birthing moment came, Nasica was still there, holding her friend's hand.

Hilden delivered the child, and then showed Jaelynn how to clean the child—a boy—and hand him to the mother. While the mother and Nasica admired the new babe, Hilden tended to the mother and sent Jaelynn out for fresh water.

The cold evening air hit her, and it was the most pleasant thing for her at that moment. Jaelynn stopped to enjoy it. She needed it before she carried on. The wind tossed her brown hair, and Jaelynn leaned back a bit and stared up at the sky.

She let out a long breath.

And then sucked it right back in when she looked ahead of her and saw Tristan staring at her.

The knight stood stiffly, watching her with eyes that were so alert and intense she almost wondered if she was in danger. But that look. . . his amber colored eyes were glowing.

And then she heard footsteps shuffle behind her. A woman's voice cooed, and Jaelynn had to turn and see who it was.

It was Nasica, holding the newborn. She had a tender smile on her face as she looked down on the baby boy.

Jaelynn's heart skipped a beat, painfully. She glanced back at Tristan, who wasn't staring at her. He never had been. He was staring at Nasica.

Jaelynn's chest shuddered as she tried to breathe. She scurried away to fulfill her duties.

-0-0-

Tristan watched from his room. Arthur and the knights and a number of Britons left yesterday to meet the Roman convoy. He expected they would return some time today.

Arthur had caught up with him before the party left and tried to ease things between them. Tristan didn't hold anything against Arthur; he was being cautious, simple as that. Arthur, as usual, wasn't convinced at Tristan's ease, but left with his head a little higher.

The scout left his room, and stopped at the smithy first. The gap-toothed man looked up from his work once and merely directed the scout with his eyes. Tristan followed the look and found the sword he'd commissioned laying on a table. Tristan picked it up. It wasn't completely polished and ready, but the work was there.

"Try it out," the smithy said. "Bring it back this evening and tell me what you still want."

Tristan raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He took the sword and left the shop.

Headed for the training yards, Tristan tested the sword's weight in his hand. It was good for him, probably even with his last sword, but it felt a little heavy. He frowned. He hadn't practiced with a sword since confronting the marauders. His right shoulder and forearm ached, but they would have to adjust.

He heard someone gasping as he entered the training yard. Nasica was there, her sword drawn and sparring with the other Briton who'd come for him—Lennor. Tristan sat aside, and watched.

Nasica was surprisingly limber. Each time Lennor swung, Nasica dodged masterfully. She would lean so far back that Tristan thought she would lose her balance. Then she would right herself as if it were very natural to bend back and forth. Nasica twirled around and set her foot right behind Lennor's, and then hit him with her elbow in the chest.

The hit made him move, and his movement made him trip over her foot. Nasica turned out of the way of his fall, and watched until he hit the ground. She brought the tip of her sword to his throat as a signal of her victory.

She grinned, and then lowered her sword. She offered a hand to Lennor, who accepted with a humbled smile.

The faintest trace of a smile came upon Tristan's lips. He stood and went to the open space of the yard. Nasica noticed him quickly, and he noted the surprise on her face.

"Are you supposed to be sparring yet?" she asked. Tristan looked blankly at her, and merely held up his sword as a challenge to her.

She sighed, but adapted a fighting stance.

He didn't overextend himself. His lunges were short, and his pace steadily slow. Her speed was just as quick though, and Tristan was grateful she wasn't slowing down just for him. The blade felt a bit heavy still in his hand, and his shoulders let him know every time he swung. When his sword met hers, an annoying shiver traveled up the blade. He frowned; the blade would need to be strengthened. That would make it heavier, but he could train more and adjust.

He heard the rush of air being sliced by a blade, and ducked. The movement stirred up a twinge in his side, but he ignored it and jumped back when the blade was clear. He blocked Nasica's next attack with an upward swing. She quickly repositioned herself and twirled around him.

He felt her foot hit just behind his heel. He smiled; she was setting him up like she had Lennor. Her elbow was coming towards his chest the same way.

Tristan dropped his sword and caught her elbow before it could hit him. That didn't stop her enough. Her eyes darted to his sword, lying on the ground, and she brought hers up in one sweep towards his neck.

He picked up his foot and tangled it around hers, the one that was meant to trip him. He buckled his leg, and brought her down. He braced her sword from falling on him, and swatted it away.

He hit the earth, and she fell on top of him. She pulled from his hold on her arm, and rolled from him, but Tristan followed. He pinned her.

"Can't use the same trick twice," he said choppily between breaths. She glared at him, and then bucked her hips up so forcefully that it sent Tristan forward and into the dirt. He felt her scramble free from him. Tristan rolled away once and got to his feet.

Nasica held her sword, her eyes gleaming at him like he was prey. Tristan grinned. This was good.

His sword lay at her feet, a bit dirty now, but he didn't care. She would rush him. She held the advantage, and would use it. But she just stood there, her blade held horizontally at him, even though there was a good fifteen feet between them.

_Does she think this is over?_ He may not have a sword in hand, but he was not defeated. He frowned.

"Enough," she said, lowering her sword. "Not bad. I expected better, but maybe it's your health." Her words tasted bitter.

"I'm still standing," Tristan pointed out. Nasica shrugged.

"So?" She sheathed her sword and tossed her blonde hair out of the way. "I'm finished. Am I supposed to keep fighting just because the infamous scout has shown me something other than indifference?" She huffed. "I'm not after such an _honor._"

She left the training yard, the wind at her back as if she took it with her. Tristan stood, baffled. _What just happened?_

He went to his sword, remembering the adjustments the smithy would have to make. When he turned to leave, he noticed Lennor was standing aside, having watched the sparring match.

"Did I offend her?" Tristan asked in Lennor's direction. Lennor shrugged.

"It doesn't take much," he said. "I don't think she likes you." There was no meanness to his words, and Tristan appreciated that. The scout stared after the blonde Woad as her form hastened through the town.

"What did I do to her?" he wondered aloud.

He heard Lennor come behind him, and clap him on the back.

"Nothing, to her," he said. "Good fighting, by the way." Lennor left, following Nasica's path to the town. Tristan stayed behind, stared at the sword in his hands, and tried to understand what went wrong.


	12. The Romans

**a/n:** Another freaking long chapter! Thanks so much for your awesome reviews and feedback—it really is refreshing and rewarding for me. I hope you all enjoy this one too! I hope to get a new chapter out by Sunday, but if not, be patient with me. :o) Thanks!

**The Romans**

Jaelynn heard the commotion throughout the town, and recognized the tense excitement. _Arthur must be back_. She had seen him leave a couple of days ago, and rumor had it that he was bringing back Romans.

Sure enough, she saw a carriage and men on horseback, surrounded by Britons and the knights. Tristan wasn't among them, but she knew he had stayed behind.

Jaelynn had avoided him the last couple of days. She felt so silly for doing so; she was willing to be away from someone she considered at least a friend, all because she couldn't give up the notion that he might be more than a friend one day. But she found reason after reason to not seek him out.

Vanora and she had gone around town, trying to find a suitable place for Jaelynn to live. She knew Vanora wasn't keen on letting her go so soon, but Jaelynn was beginning to think that the sooner she was independent, the more focused she could be on the healing arts. It was an excuse, at least.

She'd found a room of her own in the healing wing of the fort. She was surprised that she would even be allowed to stay in what was really the royal household's area, but Hilden had a room nearby as well. Maybe it wasn't such a big deal.

The room was small, but she didn't need much. She certainly didn't have much. She was able to make a few trips back and forth between Vanora's temporary home to her new room, just taking armfuls of her things. Clothes, a few trinkets, and a blanket she and Vanora made last year. The bathing area for women was down the hall, and included in a weekly housing fee was breakfast and dinner.

She really couldn't ask for better. She found her wages as a healer's assistant were more than she imagined getting. Money wasn't something she had a lot of experience with, but she was learning. She had enough for her weekly board, and then a little more for whatever she wished.

The book on the table in the healing room beckoned her, and Jaelynn glared at it before settling back down to read. The minutia within the books drove her crazy, but she knew it was important. She found herself making little notes on some parchment, questions to ask Hilden when she saw him.

He was out at the moment. He had his own life, though she didn't know what he did. She just knew to wait in the healing room, both in case someone needed something and to eventually find Hilden for answers.

She heard him enter. _Finally!_ She was running out of room for all her questions. Without looking up, she asked:

"I thought eucalyptus was used to fight infection, but it's listed as a remedy for aches as well," she said. "Why?" She pointed to a spot in her book, and he came to her side, reading over her shoulder.

"Hell if I know," came the reply. Jaelynn jumped at the voice. It wasn't Hilden's. The lingering scratchiness of the voice was a dead giveaway, and she turned to face him.

"Tristan."

He smirked, no doubt pleased with himself in startling her. Jaelynn's heart was racing. She let out a shuddering breath, and shut her book.

"What do you need?"

The smirk disappeared, and he looked around the room.

"Hilden wanted to check the scars." His eyes settled back on her, and Jaelynn had to fight not to look away. No, she was here first. This was her job, and she wasn't about to get intimidated by him.

_He doesn't even intimidate you!_ She wasn't like the rest of the town. _It's just because you still can't get over your crush! Even when he gawks at other women like Nasica!_

She turned away, partially so she could roll her eyes at herself without Tristan seeing. Her fingers brushed over some vials on a shelf. Her eyes searched for the right one, something Hilden had made especially for the scout.

"Here it is," she said aloud. She plucked the small vial off the shelf and turned to the scout. He eyed what she had in her hand, and then took off his leather jerkin. He started to lift his shirt, granting Jaelynn a glimpse of his chest when her voice found her.

"What are you doing?"

He stopped, his shirt hoisted to his shoulders with his arms ready to pull it off completely.

"You need to put that on." He nodded at the vial. He studied her face, and she knew it had to be because she was blushing.

_No, no, no, no, NO!_ She was not going to lose face here. She stood up taller and put her hands on her hips. She gave him her best chiding glare, like Vanora often gave her brood.

"I think I know what needs to be done better than you, and that's not it." _Good! Keep going, Jaelynn!_ She went to him, grasped the hem of his shirt, and pulled it down. She turned and grabbed his jerkin and passed it to him, followed by the vial.

"For the scarring, and if the wounds still bother you," she said, watching as Tristan slowly took the vial. He frowned, and she knew she was getting back her confidence. "Hilden said only to apply it if you need it. The wounds are well enough that infection isn't a problem."

She stepped back—distance was a good thing—and waited for whatever would happen next.

Tristan spun the vial with his fingertips before pocketing it. He put the leather jerkin back on, and then . . . he just waited.

Jaelynn swallowed. She didn't know what to do. Her stomach tightened and if something didn't happen soon, she just might be sick from nerves. Tristan looked over her. She felt like she was being judged.

"Do you need anything else?" she found herself saying. Tristan shook his head. He frowned a bit, but then he flashed a smile at her.

"Thanks."

As soon as he was gone, Jaelynn flopped down on a chair, and hid her head in her hands.

-0-0-

Arthur sighed tiredly. The last thing he wanted to do was have an elaborate feast for a bunch of Romans. He wasn't impressed by them at all, and that's what the Romans had been looking for.

They had a royal air, snobbery oozing off of them. Six men who were Roman dignitaries. Just a visit, they said, but they weren't invited. Galahad had whined about them all the way back to the Wall.

And Arthur told him they had to be hospitable. Rome was weakening, from what he heard, but it still was a formidable empire, and Arthur didn't need enemies right now. He would allow the visit—it was just a few weeks.

The dignitaries seated themselves wherever they wanted around the table. They didn't seem to care that they were occupying the knights' seats. Surprisingly, Gawain, Galahad and Bors didn't pitch a fit.

He wondered where Tristan was. He'd summoned him to join the party. He didn't recognize any of the Romans or think they would be any trouble from Tristan's time in Rome. Besides, that was two years ago, and he felt terrible for leaving Tristan behind on the ride out.

The Romans chatted with each other. They started to drink freely even though the feast really hadn't started yet. Arthur had seen his share of rude Romans, but these men were pushing it.

As if sensing his disapproval, one of them raised his hand at his men.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I believe we should wait for our host's invitation." The other men grumbled a bit, but set their goblets down. _Yet they didn't wait for an invitation to come here in the first place._

Arthur nodded. "Thank you. Allow me to introduce those present you might not have met."

He stood and turned to Guinevere. His face showed all the adoration. "My wife and Queen, Guinevere. We have a son, but he is feeling too ill to be brought here tonight." Hilden and Jaelynn were watching over the infant, and while Guinevere was a bit anxious, Arthur had all the confidence in the world in Hilden's abilities. He started to name off others around the table. Nasica, two other ladies, the knights . . .

. . . and then Tristan walked in.

"And Tristan," Arthur finished, a reproving glare on his face. The scout just shrugged as if there was nothing wrong. Arthur noted that the knight at least looked clean and had a decent tunic on. The only seat left was between one of the Romans and Bors. He took it.

"Rome has sent these men on an official visit," Arthur said. "Gemino Octavius, I'll let you introduce your men."

Octavius stood.

"Thank you. We are pleased to be here. With me are Patriclo, Caenis, Tacitus, Cicero and Maro," he said, gesturing around the table. Arthur smiled politely and looked around the room.

Tristan looked less than pleased. His eyes were stuck on the Romans, and one of the Romans eyed him specifically.

Tacitus.

Octavius sat down, and though Arthur wondered what was going on, he had to be the host.

The dinner started, with several courses being brought out. Polite conversation commenced across the table, and Arthur was obligated to turn to Octavius, evidently the ranking member of the guests.

As he spoke, his eyes kept wandering over to Tristan.

The scout avoided the Romans, turning to Bors' conversation. But Tacitus kept staring at the scout. And that worried Arthur.

All thought escaped him when suddenly Jaelynn entered the room. She was slightly out of breath, but managed a formal smile and bow to the guests.

Jaelynn came to him and Guinevere.

"What is it, Jaelynn?" Guinevere asked, unable to mask her panic. Jaelynn noticed all eyes were on her, and lowered her voice. Arthur was grateful for that.

"Your son has developed a fever," she said in a hushed voice. "Hilden asks if the Queen could come." Arthur's heart dropped, and he saw the despair in Guinevere's eyes. He grabbed her hand.

"Go ahead," he urged, giving her a tender smile. Inside he felt the same worry she exhibited, but he could not show that now. Guinevere took comfort in his smile, and stood.

-0-0-

Tristan had tried not to draw attention to himself or acknowledge the Romans by watching Nasica. She had nodded once to him during the meal, but otherwise ignored him. He was discouraged about how she'd acted before, but not enough to ignore her.

The moment Jaelynn came in, he knew something was wrong. He studied Arthur and Guinevere as Jaelynn whispered something to them. The baby, probably. Guinevere left, with Jaelynn in tow.

"Tristan, isn't it?" he heard beside him. Tristan turned to the Roman, but it wasn't the original one he'd sat by.

It was the one called Tacitus. He'd switched places with his comrade Maro.

Tristan calmly reached for his goblet and took a sip before answering.

"Yes."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Tacitus grin.

"Have you seen Rome, Tristan?" Tacitus asked.

Tristan set his goblet down but didn't answer. Tacitus kept going.

"In Rome, we don't have women like that," he said. Tristan clenched his fists. "Queens, we have. Even female warriors. But that jewel . . ." He gestured to the door, where Jaelynn had left.

Tristan's stomach turned.

"Such beauty and innocence, and a young spirit," Tacitus kept going. "Is she spoken for?"

If he had his sword on him, and if Arthur wasn't watching, he would have lopped the Roman's head off. He settled on staring blankly at Tacitus.

"No then?" Tacitus grinned. "Or are you not much with the ladies of this town, Tristan? Not too many women throwing themselves at assassins these days, are there?"

Tristan steeled himself. He glared at the Roman.

"What?"

Tacitus grinned.

"Why pretend? I know who you are," he said. "You worked for Germanius. Did you kill him too?" He chuckled but there was no humor. "The beast turned on his master. Would you turn on Arthur too? Maybe that innocent girl?"

From across the room, Tristan saw Arthur, watching them closely. He imagined his tense posture said it all, but Arthur could do nothing at this point.

"Stay away from her," Tristan managed to say between tightly clenched teeth.

"Don't worry," Tacitus said, nearly whispering in his ear. "Your secret can be safe with me. For a price. The girl, maybe."

Tristan casually picked up his goblet again. He drank one quick sip, and then set the goblet down again. As he brought his arm back, he gave it one quick snap in Tacitus' direction.

His elbow connected with the man's nose.

The man didn't cry out, to his credit. Tristan glanced at the other Romans but they were getting drunk. Arthur noticed right away, but just frowned. _Good. _At least he knew something was wrong.

Tristan leaned over to Tacitus, who braced his hands around his swollen nose.

"Careful," Tristan said. "Don't get lost on your way home. The _beast_ likes an easy kill."

He stood, and nodded once to Arthur, as formal an acknowledgment as Tristan could spare at the moment. He left the dinner, ignoring the curious stares from Nasica.

-0-0-

A small noise startled him awake. Tristan sat up quickly in his bed, and drew a dagger from underneath the mattress.

"Tristan," he heard a voice whisper. His door was half-open, and he halted his arm from throwing the dagger when he saw the person.

"Jaelynn," he said. He put the dagger down. "What's wrong?"

"Arthur wants to see you," she whispered. She stayed by the door, and Tristan got up and put on his shirt.

As they walked to Arthur's chambers, Tristan tied his leather jerkin in place. It was late, well into the night, but all sleepiness left him. Arthur's summons in the middle of darkness was never a good thing.

"How's the boy?" Tristan asked as they walked. He peeked in Jaelynn's direction from behind his unruly hair. She looked tired, her hair swept up in a messy bun and still dressed as she was when he saw her at dinner. _Still working._ That wasn't a good thing for Arthur's son.

"Fever," she answered gravely. "The Queen is making herself sick with worry."

Despite the seriousness, Tristan smiled. It was very much like Guinevere to worry so over something she had no control—not that she would have before she married Arthur, but having a child seemed to change that in her.

A door opened along the hallway, just within sight of Arthur's chambers. The occupant looked out, evidently roused by the passing of people in the hall. Tristan's heart flipped when he saw it was Nasica.

She was looking down the other way, and didn't see Tristan's step falter as they approached. When she looked back, her eyes went directly to his.

He thought about stopping. He wanted to see her more, to talk to her. About what, he wasn't sure—maybe to assuage his confusion over her words in the training yard. But now was not the time. He gave her a curt nod, and kept pace with Jaelynn.

Jaelynn knocked on Arthur's door. Arthur himself opened, and ushered them inside. Tristan, to his annoyance, hoped that Nasica saw this.

_Why do you care?_

He cleared his thoughts and quickly took stock of what was going on.

Jaelynn immediately went to Hilden's side. The healer used a damp cloth and wiping over Arthur's son. Guinevere tried to smile at the infant and hold the boy while Hilden administered to him.

The six of them were the only ones in the room, and Tristan wondered why he was brought here. He wasn't like Jaelynn. He didn't have skills to benefit the child. He caught sight of Jaelynn, offering sincere smiles to both Guinevere and the boy. When Hilden asked for something, she immediately turned to get it.

He smiled faintly.

"Thank you for coming, Tristan," Arthur said, breaking his thoughts. Tristan nodded.

"Will he heal?" he asked soft enough for only Arthur to hear. Both men looked on at the healers and the boy.

"We think so," Arthur said. "This is the first time he's taken ill seriously. Gwen is being cautious." Without looking away from his family, Arthur continued. "What do you think of our Roman guests?"

Judging by the tense tone in Arthur's voice, Tristan wondered if this was the king's casual introduction to a lecture.

"I don't trust them," Tristan said. He doubted that was a surprise to Arthur. No one really trusted Romans, and that Tristan least of all would trust them, well . . . some things were just a given.

"Is that because of your personal experience or because of something now?" Arthur asked. He wasn't chiding, Tristan realized. That made him straighten up. Arthur only got into this analysis when he suspected something himself.

"Both." He saw Jaelynn look to him, curiosity blatant on her weary features. He kept his voice low. "One of them knows me."

Arthur drew a deep breath. "Tacitus? How?"

"From Rome," answered Tristan. "He knows what I was, and about Germanius."

"What did he say?"

Tristan took his time answering. He watched Jaelynn, and felt an unfamiliar pang of worry hit him.

"He'll use this to his advantage," Tristan generalized. Arthur turned to Tristan directly, making Tristan face him as well.

"What did he say, Tristan?" Arthur repeated. For some reason, Tristan hated to say it. He hated to even have to tell Arthur this, as if he were incapable of handling it himself. He knew it wasn't that simple, but Arthur had enough worries . . .

"He said he could keep my actions a secret, for a price." The scout's eyes moved to Jaelynn, where they stayed long enough for Arthur to catch the meaning.

The king balled his fists, but his eyes were soft as they looked on Jaelynn. Tristan knew she was a soft spot in the king's heart, as well as the knights'—even his own.

"That eliminates the doubts I had," Arthur said. Tristan blinked. "I don't believe the Romans. They're not here for what they say. If Rome had sent them, there would have been some announcement, if for no other reason than to ready the finest rooms for the party."

Tristan smiled. He enjoyed it when Arthur got sarcastic.

"What do you suspect?" he asked.

Arthur sighed.

"I don't know," he admitted, running a hand over his tired face. "But I have a way to find out." He stared purposely at Tristan. "You have skills, Tristan, ways to stay hidden and find what we need." Somehow, Tristan doubted these skills were just his scouting. Arthur was indirectly referring to Rome, and his abilities there. But Arthur wasn't aiming for assassination, and Tristan begrudgingly acknowledged that.

"You want me to spy on them," the scout filled in. Arthur nodded.

"I'll tell them I sent you to scout," the king said. "In light of Tacitus' threat, it would at least keep you safer."

"What about Jaelynn?" Tristan asked. She heard her name that time, but just it, for she looked up again at the men. Tristan lowered his voice further. "Who will look after her?"

A valid concern, after the marauders swooped in and stole her for a time.

"She's needed here," Arthur said, "or I'd send her away until the Romans leave. I've been told she just moved into the fort's household, so she's a bit safer, but she's alone." The king thought for a moment. "There's an empty room by hers. You'll have to be invisible, Tristan, as you move around the fort. No one can know you're still here. But you can go back to that room, to keep an extra watch on her."

Tristan nodded. He had to admit he was thrilled about spying on the Roman scum. The sooner he found something, the sooner they all would be rid of them. It didn't settle the matter of Jaelynn though.

"I can't watch her all the time," Tristan said. "Tell Hilden not to let her out of his sight. Get Gawain and Galahad on alert too."

"And Bors," Arthur added. Tristan shook his head.

"Bors won't keep quiet," he said. He glanced at Jaelynn. "No need to worry her."

He missed the surprised look Arthur gave him as he watched Jaelynn work.

"You know what you suspect?" Tristan asked, winding the matter up.

Arthur shook his head. "No. But they're hiding something."

Guinevere caught her husband's eye, and Arthur shifted her way.

"I'll be gone by morning," Tristan said, and went for the door.

He was twenty steps away from Arthur's chambers when he heard someone open another door.

"Tristan." _Nasica_, he recognized immediately. He stopped by her door. She looked like she hadn't even tried to go back to sleep. _She waited for me._

Foolish thought, he knew, but it's what came to mind.

"What's going on?" she asked, nodding towards Arthur's door. Tristan kept his eyes on her, trying to ignore the loose shirt she wore that exposed her neck and shoulder.

"Baby's sick," he said. Nasica shot him a look.

"I knew that," she warned. "What's really going on?"

Tristan shrugged. "Scouting. I should go." He made to leave, but Nasica stepped from her room and blocked his path. His heart began to pound.

"That's not all. I saw what happened at dinner," she said, her gray eyes probing him. She grinned at him, a playful but challenging wile to sway him. Tristan drew a long breath. He couldn't figure this woman out. Every word she spoke could be interpreted as hateful or friendly—every action bullying or flirtatious. Did she even like him?

And then he decided to abandon analysis and just find out the direct way.

"Are you worried?" he asked evenly, without a sign of emotion. Before she could answer, Tristan stepped towards her, backing her against the wall, and he seized her lips. He kissed her, strong and unrelenting.

He felt her hands push against his chest, and she forced him away. Her gray eyes were suddenly darker now.

"Tristan—" Her voice came as a scalding hiss, and Tristan instantly knew. _No,_ he thought. _She doesn't care._ He waited, even though every instinct told him to walk away with a little bit of dignity. He waited, and watched as she struggled between fury and control.

Finally she spoke, her voice more even this time.

"I don't feel anything for you, Tristan," she said. Her voice strengthened, and Tristan knew he wouldn't like the rest of this. "Maybe you thought I did. Maybe I was wrong to ever speak to you. Arthur sent me to find you, and I did my duty. I pity how you were treated, but perhaps you deserved it."

He wanted to look away, knowing she was throwing contempt at his face for being an assassin. But pride dictated that he stare her in the eyes.

"I apologize if I gave you any reason to think I cared for you," she continued, but she sounded anything but sorry. "I never could. If I felt anything other than . . ." She couldn't seem to find the right word.

"It would be as if I condoned your actions. As if I ignored the people you slaughtered, for money or whatever made you do it." Her lips curled in disgust, and Tristan felt his heart shrink and harden. "I know Arthur needs someone like you, and I respect that. But I will never respect _you._"

She shook her head at him, as if that was the final condemnation. She stood there, waiting. Her eyes stared into him.

"And you can't even defend yourself," she muttered, more to herself, but still meant as a barb.

_No_, he thought, _I can't._ Clearly Nasica didn't know all the details, but she didn't need to. She didn't want to. Learning more about him or what he did would only make it harder for her to hate him. _And she wants to hate you._

He nodded once. "'Night." He turned and walked away. He heard Nasica slam her door.

Tristan blinked.

And he continued down the hall, pushing aside the sting and hurt of Nasica's words. He pushed aside contempt he felt for himself, for his past and for ever thinking Nasica just might care for him.

It didn't matter now. He had a mission, and he had to prepare and be out of sight before sunrise.


	13. From the Rooftops

**a/n: **It's just barely Monday, but for the record, I tried hard to post on Sunday. So my apologies. But send me your feedback anyway! I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and I'll get working on the next. Thanks for reading!

**From the Rooftops**

Guinevere's son was still a bit weak, but Hilden declared the fever had broken. Jaelynn was relieved along with the infant's parents. She felt exhausted now, but she protested when Hilden tried to send her away. He was working harder than she, and so she stayed and cleaned the room and supplies they used over the long night.

She was back in the healing wing. Looking over their supplies, she noticed they were running low on a few herbs. She would go to the market. Glancing out the window, she saw it was mid-morning.

_I should go now._

She sighed, and gathered some coins Hilden gave her for such purchases.

Her body was so weary, and she felt in such need of a bath, but it would only take an hour or so at the market. Maybe less, since she already found one herb she needed.

The sky was cloudy, and it was just a touch warmer than days before. It would snow tomorrow. The weather was always like this before a snow set in.

"Jaelynn?" The vendor waved at her, trying to get her to refocus. Jaelynn smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry." She pointed to an herb and readied her coins.

"Might I know your name?" she heard suddenly behind her. Jaelynn turned around to find a Roman man standing before her. He was older, and had eyes set close together. Jaelynn frowned.

"Jaelynn," she said quietly. He smiled and bowed to her.

"I am Tacitus," the Roman said. "I saw you last night, at the feast."

She wasn't quite sure what to say, so she just stood and waited. Tacitus, as he called himself, had a kind smile, but it did not reach his eyes. Something about him made her nervous.

"You left too quickly though," Tacitus continued. "What made you leave?" Without realizing it, she took a step back.

"I work with the healer," she said. "We tended the king's son." She wondered immediately if she should have said that. But Tacitus just smiled.

"A gifted healer you must be, to tend such a patient."

She smiled forcefully. His words were sickly sweet. Her expression turned to more of a grimace than a smile.

"Jaelynn!" someone shouted across the market. She turned and was relieved when she saw Gawain. He grinned to her, and motioned for her to come to him.

"Excuse me," Jaelynn said, and she quickly slipped by Tacitus.

"Until later, Jaelynn," she heard him say as she left. She didn't look forward to that.

Gawain seemed very happy to see her, which she thought was odd, but they were friends so it wasn't unusual.

"What are you doing about?" he said by way of greeting. "I heard you were up all night."

Jaelynn shrugged. "Yes, but there was more to be done, and I'd rather get it all finished now so I can rest without worry."

"Come on," he said, turning her from the market. "Lucinda just made some sweet rolls you have to try." She grinned, eager to try such treats and eager to see and speak with Gawain's gal.

-0-0-

Arthur was right. The Roman did try to get close to Jaelynn. Gawain was glad he found her when he did. He didn't think the Roman would be so foolish to do something in daylight, but Gawain saw the false advance he made on Jaelynn. Gawain was just relieved that Jaelynn didn't seem thrilled by the approach.

Arthur was in meetings all day, some with his councilors and some with the Roman party. That left Gawain with little to do but keep an eye on Jaelynn.

She and Lucinda got on splendidly, and he had to smile at how quick friends they'd become. With Jaelynn living in the Wall now, he expected they would spend even more time together. Gawain smiled. It was good for them both. Neither woman was silly, or loose like so many of the town's female folk.

Jaelynn yawned.

"Oh, I forgot," Lucinda said, smiling. "You worked through the night, didn't you?"

Jaelynn shook her head, not protesting the observation, but trying to clear her head.

"I'm all right," she said. "I wasn't the only one up. I'm sure Arthur, Guinevere and Hilden are worse off. And Tristan."

Gawain tensed at that. When Arthur told him what was going on, the knight felt a bit nervous about Tristan spying on the Romans. Not that he disagreed with it, but Tristan was barely recovered from his run-in with the marauders.

"Is he gone again?" Lucinda asked him. Gawain nodded.

"Arthur sent him to scout," he said vaguely. Lucinda laughed.

"That man needs a life," she said. Jaelynn smiled.

"Well, I should go," she said. "I'm ready for a bath, and a long nap." Gawain followed her out of the kitchen.

"I'll come with you," he said. Instantly, Lucinda started laughing, and Gawain realized what he said when Jaelynn started blushing. "I meant, I'll walk you back to your room, so you don't fall asleep on the way."

Jaelynn joined in on the laughter, and Gawain just shook his head, and led the way.

_Women._

-0-0-

Daylight was tricky, Tristan decided. It was good for tracking, but for spying? It would have been easier to spy in Rome—where he was unknown and one of thousands of people. Here, where he considered it home, it was nearly impossible.

Nearly.

He stole a hooded cloak, and with the weather being cloudy and cold, it made him blend in.

Octavious, Cicero and Maro were in a meeting with Arthur and the council. Tristan followed Caenis. He knew Tacitus and Patriclo were in their quarters. He hoped they were, anyway. As much as he wanted to stick to Tacitus, each of the Romans was a threat—potentially.

And Caenis, for some reason, was wandering around the fort. It wasn't a pleasure stroll, shopping at the market or something ordinary. The Roman headed for the edges of town, walking at a steady pace and looking from here to there.

While Caenis headed to the west side of the Wall, Tristan moved to the center of the fort. He kept his head down but his eyes constantly moving. There was an area for woodcutting, and Tristan stood by it. Various people moved around the fort, some passing by Tristan, but no one paid attention to him.

More importantly, Caenis didn't notice him. The Roman was venturing close to the western wall, and he kept looking up at the wall itself.

He moved on, going to the south part of the wall, and Tristan stayed where he was. Again, Caenis hugged the wall, and paid particular attention to the southern gate.

_He's checking the security._ Tristan's eyes zeroed in on Caenis. He never spoke to any of the Britons or made conversation to anyone publicly. He was only watching. Scouting, even. But from within. And Tristan didn't like that at all.

Sure enough, the Roman resumed his inspection, over to the east wall, and then cutting through town. Tristan followed him back into the town. Caenis headed back to the quarters set aside for the visitors. Tristan debated whether to follow directly, or find a stealthier way to spy on the men.

He didn't need to decide for now. Caenis reemerged with Patriclo and Tacitus. The men were laughing, and as they passed each person, they sneered like the nobles in Rome. They went to the tavern.

Tristan ducked down a side alley and climbed up the side of a little home. He pulled himself up on the roof, and kept low. Looking over the tavern, he saw the Romans claim a table near the serving area but to the side, in a corner away from the general crowd. _Perfect._

He moved over the rooftop, and when he came to the gap between buildings, he checked to make sure no one could see him before jumping to the other roof. He did this twice more, and slid close to the roof's corner over the Romans. He could only move so far without someone accidentally seeing him. The area was less populated and therefore easier to hide in, but Tristan stayed behind the arch of the rooftop just in case.

The Romans talked freely. Judging by their tone and laughter, they were leering at the women.

"No, that one's not near at pretty as the girl I saw last night," came Tacitus' voice. Tristan poked his head up a bit to hear better.

"Which one is she?" That was Patriclo, Tristan guessed.

"Don't see her. I'll get her, eventually."

"Don't do anything to jeopardize us," came a more sophisticated voice. _Caenis_. Probably.

Tacitus snorted. "She's just a healer," he said. "The only one who'd care is gone. The scout."

There was a slight hush among the men. Tristan shifted his body closer to the edge.

"You were foolish to threaten him, Tacitus," Caenis said. "If he told Arthur about it, Arthur's suspicions might be raised. Or worse, if he called your bluff—"

"He won't," came a quick and angered reply. "He left because of the girl and my threat."

_Sure I did._ Tristan smirked.

"That one's pretty," Patriclo suddenly interrupted. The conversation turned to the latest lady.

He knew nothing specific, but the men definitely were all involved in some plan. Caenis' concern over Tacitus' personal threat was evidence enough, as was his spying on the Wall's security.

Tiredness set into him as he lay on the roof, staring up at the cloudy sky. It was early afternoon now, but he felt like sleeping. Maybe it was the boredom setting in as the Romans ate and drank in the tavern.

Without meaning to, his thoughts turned to last night. He recalled every word and scalding look Nasica gave him. Her voice rang in his head.

_Not now._ He returned his focus on the Romans.

He was annoyed with these men. They weren't the thinkers or strategic leaders. He had to get to Octavius, but so far he was kept in meetings.

A thought came to him then. With the Romans below him, and the other half of the party tied up in council, their quarters were unoccupied. Tristan quietly moved from the rooftop.

The halls of the fort residencies were dark even during the day. There weren't many windows or areas that let in nature light. Tristan kept his hooded cloak on him though. No sense in tempting discovery.

The Romans' quarters were tucked on the opposite side of the fort from Arthur and the royal chambers. That was purposely done. Tristan took cautious steps into the area.

The Romans had no attendants or servants with them, something that Tristan thought was odd. The vain people usually had as many servants as possible so they wouldn't have to lift a finger. But these men did not.

It was good for Tristan. The rooms were empty.

There was armor, some weapons, clothing . . . not a whole lot, Tristan reflected. A scroll caught his eye.

It was tucked beneath a shield. Tristan opened it.

The written Latin wasn't easy to decipher, and it took Tristan awhile to understand each word. The scroll started with the date, marked as being written two months ago.

_Gemino Octavius . . . in answer . . . to . . . actions . . . hereby . . . _

The next word was something like 'declared,' but he wasn't sure. The word after it wasn't something Tristan recognized. He frowned at the scroll.

Footsteps came his way. Tristan rolled the scroll up and tucked it back beneath the armor. He turned around, seeking a place to hide.

He slid beneath the nearest bed and tugged on his cloak so it cleared anyone's view. Just then, he heard a long, tired sigh.

"The others are eating in the tavern," he heard.

"I've no desire to join them," came a stately but venomous voice. It was an unfamiliar tone, but the voice belonged to Octavius. Tristan frowned. The man had seemed more controlled and polite at the feast. Perhaps that had been an act. "I will sleep. Come for me in an hour."

Tristan saw feet approach the bed, and then weight settled on it. Tristan stretched his body and tried to avoid being crushed. It was going to be a long hour.

-0-0-

Arthur sunk heavily on his bed, grateful the night had come. He'd just spent a good deal of time arguing with his British councilors about whether or not he could force the Roman visitors out. He knew that wasn't wise, but just once he wanted to do as he wished, without worrying about politics and power.

He shut his eyes, and listened to his wife in the other room, who was checking on their son.

"Learn anything from the meetings?"

Arthur sat up abruptly. Tristan grinned at him.

"How do you do that?" the king asked. Tristan wouldn't answer that, he knew, but he might as well question it.

"I found a scroll," Tristan said, leaning back against the wall.

"And?"

Tristan shrugged. "Latin," he said, as if that was answer enough. "No time to read it, but it was written two months ago."

Arthur was hardly floored by this declaration. "Do you think it explains why they're here?"

"Maybe," he said without conviction. "Anything happen with the council?"

Arthur leaned back on his bed and sighed. "Not really." He saw the memory in his mind, the boring meeting but an important feeling he had during it. "Octavius tells me of Rome's news and has proposed various plans for progress here. But it's unnatural."

Tristan raised an eyebrow. He waited for Arthur to continue.

"Rome isn't helping us," Arthur declared. "And Octavius certainly isn't the man I would choose to send as my empire's representative. He stumbles and doesn't understand . . ."

Tristan's gaze had drifted to the floor, and for a brief second, Arthur thought he was asleep. But then the scout's head snapped up.

"What does 'exsilium' mean?"

Arthur blinked. "Exsilium?"

Tristan nodded. "It was in the scroll written to Octavius."

Arthur's jaw hardened and he sat back up straight. "You're sure?" Tristan sent him an annoyed glare. "It means 'exile.'"

Tristan accepted this information without any expression. "I'll get the scroll."

Arthur nodded incredulously. "Bring it to me as soon as you can." It went without saying, but Tristan nodded respectfully.

Just then, Guinevere came in, jumping a bit when she saw Tristan. Arthur's eyes widened as he saw the thin, teasing nightshift his wife wore. Clearly she didn't know the scout was here either.

Tristan's eyes stayed on Gwen's face, and he nodded once before leaving out the front chambers' door. As soon as he was gone, Gwen spun to Arthur and glared at him.

"Sorry," he said meekly.

-0-0-

He wanted to go back to the Romans' quarters now and get the scroll. But they were there now, sleeping, and Tristan wasn't keen on going into a lion's den. It would give everything away and warn the men. No, he would have to go in the morning.

Tristan headed to the empty room by Jaelynn's. The hall was quiet. Tristan stopped outside Jaelynn's door and listened carefully. He heard nothing. Logic told him she was sleeping, so what could he really hear? He went inside the empty room.

It was a dusty room, with old furniture and wooden crates set against the walls. Tristan set his eyes on the small window. He removed his sword, the new one the smithy had finished. It still wasn't as strong as he'd like, but he didn't have another option. He dropped his cloak too, and opened the window. The cold air showed his breath, but he ignored it.

He held onto a ledge in the roof and pressed his body against the wall. He slid alongside it until he reached Jaelynn's window. It was shut, with good reason in the winter. Tristan steadied himself enough to let go of the ledge and gently pulled on half of the wooden shutter.

He only opened it a few inches, until he saw her. He was relieved, despite what logic said. Jaelynn lay on her side, with her hair spread over her pillow. A faint smile appeared on her lips and she sighed peacefully in her sleep.

He watched her for a few moments more, until a gust of wind made him close the shutter. The cold would wake her. He slid back to the empty room.

Tristan wrapped himself in the cloak again, but not covering his head. He sat on the chilly floor and leaned against the wall the room shared with Jaelynn's. He was close to the door too, and in his right hand he kept hold on his sword's hilt.

He wondered how Jaelynn slept so peacefully. With all the horrors she was unfortunate enough to witness, it was a miracle she didn't scream out in her dreams. He thought back to the caves. How brave she was there. There was fear, of course, but the presence of fear didn't void bravery. Her actions despite her fear were what made her so brazen.

She hadn't given up, even when she heard what happened—what he had played a part in. Not just the village's slaughter, but Tristan being an assassin. He didn't focus on it then, but she had heard all of it. She probably knew before—with the rumors around the fort—but even that shock and with a guard trying to attack her, she was strong.

He smiled in the darkness. He was proud of her. Things had been different though since they were back. There was the thick awkwardness every time he spoke with her, and he wasn't sure why or how to fix it. If anything, he thought some of the awkwardness would have disappeared.

He thought of Nasica next, and how awkwardness was all that existed after she rescued him. Tristan was a bit embarrassed that she'd seen him so vulnerable, but in some ways he thought it made her see more than assassin.

Obviously, he was wrong. She could never respect him—wasn't that what she'd said? Among other things.

Tristan couldn't blame her. How could he, even if her knowledge of his history was bits and pieces? No, he blamed himself. Who else could he blame? Everyone he might blame was dead.

_Because of you._

He was glad they were dead—the marauders (though he had been close to respecting the Easterner); Germanius; Decia, even though it wasn't by his hands. They had done wrong, but so had he. And he was still alive.

If he was killed, he wondered if Nasica might feel differently. Guilt, maybe. Tristan shook his head. He shouldn't wish that upon her. He felt enough guilt for probably the whole fort—no sense wishing it on anyone else.

His thoughts dissipated when he heard footsteps outside the door. Tristan tightened his grip on his hilt.

A light shown from the crack under the door. Someone was outside Jaelynn's door.

A knock. Tristan stood and drew his blade quietly.

"_Jaelynn?"_

Hilden. Tristan let himself relax.

Jaelynn's door opened, and Tristan listened carefully.

"_Hilden."_

"_It's late, I know, but a woman is ill. I could use your help."_

There was a pause.

"_Of course. One moment."_ The door shut, and then reopened moments later. Tristan listened.

"_Are you regretting this work?"_ That was Hilden. Jaelynn laughed lightly.

"_Never."_

The footsteps moved off down the hall. Tristan considered that Jaelynn was safe with Hilden, but he didn't really want to stay in this room. It held no purpose. He tied his sword scabbard back to his belt and tightened his cloak around him.

He went out the window again.

He climbed out and fell to the ground. He waited there, shrouded in darkness, until he saw Jaelynn and Hilden emerge from the residencies and move off to the town. He followed.

He stayed behind them and out of sight. When they turned a corner, he sometimes lost them, but he could guess where they went.

They went inside an old woman's home. Tristan positioned himself down the path and in between two small homes. He crouched by a pile of firewood and waited.

_Healing._ Jaelynn enjoyed it, he guessed. He quirked a smile when he thought of how confident she seemed two days ago when he'd come for the ointment. It was a different side of her—not that she wasn't caring before. He guessed that side of healing is what drew her to the profession. But she seemed so grown up, so mature . . .

She was still . . . sixteen years old, right? Tristan knew her birthday had been weeks ago, but with everything that occurred, he couldn't help but wonder if she was older now. She wasn't a little girl.

He almost groaned out loud. If Bors could hear the thoughts in his head, there would be a lot of teasing. He didn't want that, especially since it annoyed him. He hoped Jaelynn wasn't aware of how they teased him. Tristan closed his eyes. _They wouldn't tease her, would they?_

It was Bors. The dense block of lard would tease a man on his deathbed.

He heard voices. Tristan got to his feet but stayed crouched out of sight.

"I can finish up," he heard Hilden say. "You go on back to sleep. You did well."

"I can stay, if you wish," Jaelynn answered.

"No, no, it's quite all right."

Tristan frowned. Was the idiot healer going to send her back alone in the night? Ordinarily, it wouldn't be a big deal. Jaelynn could handle herself well enough and the townspeople were generally good, but with Arthur's instructions . . .

_Did he forget?_

He scowled in the night, and waited for Jaelynn to pass his position. She did, and he waited another few moments before moving.

She had already disappeared from view when he came out of his hiding place. Tristan barely turned the corner and saw her when she turned again down the next path.

And then he heard a voice.

A muffled shriek.

Tristan ran.

When he rounded the corner, he saw no one, but he could hear a struggle nearby. _Jaelynn! _Where was she?

"Shut up, girl," he heard. He knew the voice.

_Tacitus._

The Roman had his hands on Jaelynn, pinning her against the ground and wandering over her. His mouth was on hers, but Jaelynn squirmed beneath him. She kneed the Roman in the groin.

Tristan was only steps away when the Roman slapped Jaelynn in retaliation. Blood came away with the man's hand, and when Tristan saw the blood—Jaelynn's blood—on her face, reason left him.

He should have considered that Tacitus held information. He should have considered that killing him might be a bad idea. But no such thoughts came to him.

He kicked the man in the side, forcing him off Jaelynn. Tacitus' eyes flashed with both surprise and lust-induced rage. He made for his sword, but Tristan lunged at him. He pressed his forearm into the man's throat and kneed the man in the stomach. Tacitus groaned but he fought back. He was easily bulkier than Tristan, but he didn't have Tristan's motivation.

Tristan hit him repeatedly, in the face and in the chest. It was just over and over again, until his knuckles ached. At that he briefly hesitated in his attack, and then Tacitus moved.

Tacitus hit Tristan in the chest, and Tristan fell back. His cloak worked against him, tangling him somewhat so he couldn't ready himself for the attack. Tacitus lunged for him and this time pinned Tristan to the ground. He felt the Roman's hands around his neck. Tristan smirked. Strangling was such a pathetic way to try to kill someone.

Tristan rolled his body quickly, dumping Tacitus to the ground. Tristan elbowed him in the chest, and got to his knees. He loomed over the Roman, and Tristan looked him in the eyes while his fingers found his dagger on his belt.

He plunged the dagger in the man's heart. A startled and ghastly cry came from the Roman's mouth. Tristan clapped his left hand over it.

Part of him wanted to remind Tacitus that he was an assassin. A beast—wasn't that what the Roman had called him at the dinner? Part of Tristan wanted to make the man suffer longer. To strike fear into the man as he no doubt had done to many, including Jaelynn.

But Jaelynn mattered more.

Tristan twisted the dagger in the man's heart, and all life left Tacitus. He ripped out the dagger and resheathed it.

He turned to Jaelynn, and his heart ached. She wasn't moving. Her clothes were in disarray, including her dress, which was lifted high on her thighs. Glancing back at the dead but properly clothed Roman, he knew the worst hadn't happened, but it didn't lessen what he felt.

Quickly, he tore his cloak from himself and covered Jaelynn. She groaned a little when Tristan scooped her up in his arms, but she didn't wake. The blood on her face was something Tristan wouldn't forget anytime soon.

He moved hastily back to the residencies. Hilden was in the opposite direction, but Tristan had to get Jaelynn somewhere safer. He kept looking down at her as he half-ran to the closest room where he could get help.

He kicked open the door, making the occupant jump up from his bed.

"Galahad," Tristan said, making the knight not over do it and accidentally run him through.

"What's wrong?" Galahad asked. Tristan went directly for the bed, forcing Galahad aside so he could lay Jaelynn on the bed. Galahad gasped when he saw who it was.

"Get Arthur," Tristan mumbled. He tried to be gentle as he straightened Jaelynn's body and laid a blanket over her.

"Who did this?" Galahad asked.

Tristan glared at him.

"Get Arthur, now!"

Galahad knew not to argue even in his groggy state, and disappeared down the hall. Tristan turned to a basin of water in the room, and grabbed the nearest cloth he saw. He dipped the cloth in the water and knelt by Jaelynn's side.

He started to dab the blood away. The bleeding looked like it stopped. The hit Tacitus dealt her had made her lip and nose bleed, but nothing appeared broken.

Tristan had been around blood for his entire life. His own wounds, the blood of others—he was no stranger to it. But seeing this blood, such innocent blood on his hands, made him angrier than ever.

He heard Galahad coming back now, with at least two others.

"Tristan! What happened?"

He didn't bother to turn to them. He knew it was Arthur.

"Tacitus."

It was all he had to say.

"Where is he now?" Arthur asked. Tristan went to the basin and wrung out the cloth with fresh water.

"Dead, in town," he answered. "Jaelynn was with Hilden at an ill woman's house. She came back, alone." He started to wipe away the rest of the blood from Jaelynn's face.

Arthur sighed heavily. He muttered something beneath his breath.

"Did Hilden know about Tacitus?" Tristan asked. He knew his voice was eerily calm, but it was a start contrast to what he felt.

"No," Arthur said. "Because it was a matter of some confidence and security, I chose not to tell him." Tristan stood slowly and turned to face Arthur. He stared into the king's eyes. He knew Arthur would blame himself. He already felt the guilt, probably more than Tristan did. But that didn't stop Tristan.

He hit Arthur in the face. Galahad gasped, and Gawain too, who Tristan just noticed.

"Tristan!" Galahad scolded. Gawain said nothing though. Tristan tossed the bloody cloth to Arthur. Arthur caught it. He looked stunned but not mad. He stood straight and tall. For anyone else to strike a king, even Arthur, there would be consequences. But this was a matter beyond status or position—a matter between friends, and Arthur understood that.

"Get Bors," Arthur ordered to Galahad. "We go for the Romans."

"Before they try something," Tristan added. "They'll know about Tacitus soon enough."

Arthur nodded, but his eyes were on Jaelynn.

"Stay with her," he said to Tristan. Tristan smirked. He had no intention of leaving Jaelynn right now.

The king and the knights left.

He remembered how her clothes were. Tristan rummaged through Galahad's things, finding a shirt and pants for Jaelynn to wear. He pulled back the blanket and his cloak. She would want to be decent, something the state of her dress could not be. He touched her dress, and then hesitated.

He wasn't sure he should do this. Jaelynn might not appreciate being undressed, even if his intentions were for her good. He settled on pulling the skirt of the dress down so it covered her legs.

Suddenly, Jaelynn yelled.

"No!" She thrashed in the bed, kicking and hitting out. Her foot caught Tristan's jaw, but he ignored it and quickly tried to calm Jaelynn down.

"Jaelynn!" He tried to hold her, but she just pushed away.

"Leave me alone!" Her eyes were shut tight.

"Jaelynn, look at me," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. He didn't want to agitate her further. "It's Tristan."

Suddenly her eyes opened and she stopped fighting against him.

"Tristan," she gasped breathlessly. She relaxed enough to cling to him tight. He felt her body tremble but as he held her close, she slowly settled down.

"You're safe now," he whispered. His heart felt tight and achy. _You almost failed her._

But the guilt wasn't alone in his heart. He was so grateful he followed her. Grateful that even though he was late, Tacitus hadn't been able to hurt her further.

He was glad she was alive.

She buried her head in his chest, and he felt her draw a deep breath and sigh. It was a bit shaky, but she was all right.

"Thank you," he heard her whisper. Tristan tightened his hold on her.


	14. Exiled

**a/n:** Shamefully overdue update, I know. I just got back in town, and had an overnight flight and everything—No sleep, etc. but I finished this chapter! I hope you all like it. Please send me your feedback, because I crave it:o) Thanks!

**Exiled**

When Jaelynn awoke, she had the weirdest sensation she'd felt like this before. She was leaning against Tristan's chest, except the last time that happened, he was tied to a tree and they both were being held by the marauders.

This time, she was safe. Tristan had his arms around her. Peeking up at him, she saw that he was asleep, sitting up but his head and back against the wall. And she was beside him, nestled against him and quite comfortable.

_What will he think?_ She tried to move but Tristan's arms were rigid around her. She glanced at them. His knuckles were red and sported a few cuts. Unbidden, last night's terror came back to her. She shuddered, seeing Tacitus' face so close to hers, feeling his mouth on hers in what she hoped was a terrible kiss. She didn't remember when Tristan came, but she knew he had saved her.

He shifted in his sleep. Instinctively, Jaelynn shut her eyes and pretended to sleep.

He shifted some more and then she felt his chest tighten.

Suddenly she heard the door open, and Tristan flinched.

"You fell asleep?" came Galahad's voice. Jaelynn didn't move, but she listened as she lay against Tristan.

"Quiet," Tristan said. "Don't wake her."

"Is she all right?" That was Gawain, she noted.

Jaelynn felt Tristan nod.

Footsteps sounded down the hall. A voice she recognized well joined them.

"How is she! I'll castrate that Roman dog—" Bors declared loudly.

"Shut up, you dolt," she heard Tristan say. She almost laughed and had to shift a bit to act like she was still asleep. For some reason there was an awkward silence, and Jaelynn frowned. Did they know she was awake?

"You look quite comfy there, Tristan," Bors said, a snicker in his tone. Tristan tensed. Before he could say a word, another person joined them.

"Arthur," Tristan greeted. She wondered why he sounded strained when he addressed the king. "What happened?"

Arthur sighed. "Not what we wanted. The Romans left, before we even got to their quarters. And they left quickly—we found the scroll you told me about."

Tristan moved, and she felt his arms support her carefully as he shifted a bit.

"They were exiled, like you saw," Arthur said. "For plotting against Rome. And while we searched the fort and the town, they tried to take my son." Jaelynn gasped softly, but it was muffled—she hoped—in the scout's chest. "Gwen scared them off."

"They meant to kidnap him," Bors filled in. Jaelynn almost rolled her eyes at the obvious statement. "Maybe to force Arthur on something."

"Or to give up the kingdom," Tristan said. Despite the seriousness of what the men discussed, Jaelynn noticed Tristan's voice. Being pressed close to him, she heard his unique accent roll through his body. The deepness of his voice and the intonations of his speech comforted her. Charmed her. _Stop being stupid_, she warned herself.

"We're going after them," Arthur said. "I need you to track them. How soon can you be ready?"

She expected Tristan to jump at the chance, but instead there was silence. She felt him looking down at her.

"Leave one of us behind," he said, "just in case." _In case of what?_ She wasn't sure what Tristan meant, but Gawain spoke up.

"I will stay."

Tristan nodded. He moved to the edge of the bed, and turned to Jaelynn. Carefully, he put one arm around her back and the other under her legs.

"I'll take her to her room," he said softly. _Where am I?_ She thought she was in her room. The knights moved aside, and she felt Tristan's strength as he walked away. His movement seemed effortless as he held her.

"You can stop pretending," he said quietly once they were down the hall. Jaelynn nearly gasped, but she cracked open one eye. Sure enough, he was waiting for that. He smiled.

"How did you know?" she asked. He just smirked at her. "Well, then why didn't you say something sooner?"

He shrugged, making her bob up and down once. "You wanted to listen in." Jaelynn wasn't convinced.

"Then why did you tell Bors to be quiet?" she asked.

"I always tell him to shut up," Tristan replied nonchalantly. "He doesn't know how to be quiet." He stopped walking, and set her down. His arms stayed around her as she steadied herself.

That's when she noticed her dress. It was ripped. Dirt smudged it all over. She suddenly felt very vulnerable. Tristan pulled at a cloak she had over her shoulders, and he wrapped it around her like a blanket.

He stood in front of her, his hands on her shoulders, and he stared directly in her eyes.

"You're okay," he told her. She nodded, though she didn't completely feel it now. He stood back up and walked with her to her room. At her door, he went in first. Jaelynn wondered why, until she saw his hand on the hilt of his sword. _In case someone is inside. Waiting._

He checked the corners of the room, and then returned to the hall.

"Gawain will be here soon," he told her from the doorway. His eyes looked her up and down, and she noticed he frowned. Self-consciously, she tugged at the cloak. He opened his mouth to say something, but it never came. He just nodded once at her, and left her.

She was left alone in every sense, feeling as if the close friendliness they just shared never happened at all. What was it that drove him away? Could they never just be comfortable with each other—for more than fleeting moments? Jaelynn sighed, and started to change her tattered clothes.

-0-0-

It had snowed in the few hours he had rested. It was snowing still, and Tristan didn't care for that. It would just cover the Romans tracks. Looking up to the sky, he wondered if his hawk would find anything. She wasn't back yet.

He'd neglected her somewhat, but the hawk seemed happy now that they were out again, scouting. It's what was most familiar to them both, and for Tristan it normally soothed him. Today, though, he was still too tense. He kept thinking how close he'd come to losing Jaelynn.

He sighed, and shut his eyes. The movement of his horse rocked him back and forth, and he heard the leather of the saddle creak. He heard the crunch of the snow beneath the hooves, and the hooves of the others behind him. In this moment of tuning his senses, he felt his hands stinging.

He opened his eyes and looked down. His hands were red and swollen slightly from when he'd punched Tacitus. Little cuts lined his knuckles as well. It wasn't real pain, but it was an annoyance. Tristan urged his horse forward further, to a cluster of trees. He reached for a lower branch and gathered the snow from it into his hands.

Packing the snow together, he used it to rub over his hands. The cold was biting, but it served its purpose to relieve his knuckles. He chucked the ball of snow away, and then noticed his dagger. Blood crusted the blade and handle, making Tristan grimace. He normally was very precise about cleaning his weapons.

Being Tacitus' blood from the night before, Tristan had no desire to keep any remains of the man nearby. Tristan drew his dagger, and used some more snow to clean the blood off.

The rest of the party neared him.

"Ah, sharpening your taste for bloodlust?"

Tristan turned his head sharply. Nasica was sitting atop her horse, unfortunately a member of this mission. Tristan had no problem with some of the Britons joining them, but Nasica was an awkwardly painful thorn in his side.

He hadn't really seen or spoken with her since he kissed her, but that was barely a day or two ago. So much had happened since them, things that were more important, and yet her presence now brought back that encounter and distracted him from his current mission.

Slowly, he digested Nasica's words. But he had no answer for her.

"Did you enjoy your latest kill?" she asked next, a mock-friendliness to her tone. She nodded once at the red stain the dagger left on the snow in his hands. Behind her, the other knights exchanged bewildered looks because of her direct and mean words.

Tristan kept his face blank. "Yes." He turned his horse away and gave it a nudge. He traveled ahead, eager to get away.

Running away wasn't an answer, but it was a solace for Tristan. If scouting had taught him nothing else, it was that being alone and away from the center of life's problems made the daily routine and drags bearable.

He hated what Nasica asked. Maybe because it was that he did enjoy killing. That wasn't a new revelation to him, or anyone else. Part of him wished she could see him in a better light—maybe how Jaelynn did.

Immediately, he knew that wasn't fair, in any shape or form. He and Jaelynn were close, yes, but he doubted he could ever be close enough to her as she wanted. She thought it would make her happy, but Tristan didn't want to hurt her. To him, protecting her from hurt—from him not being good enough to fill whatever void she sought—was a show of his affection. He knew she wouldn't see it that way. But it didn't matter; it wasn't a subject he was going to broach.

_But you did with Nasica._ Alone and without a soul watching him, Tristan rolled his eyes at himself. Yes, he had lapsed. He had dared to think an attractive, strong yet caring woman could stoop low enough to care for someone like him. That was foolish in hindsight. Except for the blind fancies of young love, no one would ever be able to see past what he was.

Suddenly, his hawk's cry drew him from his melancholy. Tristan looked up, and held his arm out as the bird swooped down.

-0-0-

As soon as the scout rode off, Nasica felt the heated gazes from his companions. Luckily, the one that mattered the most wasn't around; Arthur was trailing behind a bit, speaking with one of the warriors. It was odd, in that way. She always thought of Arthur as the parent you wished wouldn't hear you at the worst moment.

He was king though. And Nasica realized that the 'worst moment' probably meant she shouldn't have goaded Tristan. But she couldn't be blamed, could she? She was right, after all. Tristan even admitted it. Part of her was angry for his presumption the other night, just brazenly assuming she liked him, when in actuality it was pity.

She expected at least one of the knights to confront her. She sat squarely in her saddle atop her horse, and waited. But she frowned when it was Galahad who spoke to her.

"I know what you mean," he said. Nasica was startled by that. "I've seen Tristan over the years, and he kills for pleasure. Or rather, he takes pleasure in his kills."

Nasica wasn't sure where he was going with this. Galahad and Tristan didn't get along very well, a fact any person could observe.

"He makes too many 'kills,'" she countered. "I can't just forget that."

"I didn't say you should forget it," Galahad said nonchalantly. He seemed very conversational, just riding alongside a fellow warrior. "I haven't. And he certainly won't. It's all a bad nightmare to him."

Nasica realized she'd pulled up sharply on the reins, but it was something about the way Galahad said that . . . _nightmare?_ That almost implied regret.

"I don't know every detail," Galahad continued, ignoring her baffled look. He stopped his horse's pace. "Tristan has never spoken of his time in Rome. But I know why he was there, and why he was an assassin." He glanced at Nasica, as if waiting for her to speak. Her curiosity was definitely piqued but she wasn't exactly sure what to say.

"It's because of his loyalty."

Nasica snorted. _Sure, the assassin has a loyal streak._ But one look from Galahad silenced her. In fact, the friendly tone he'd created before seemed to evaporate.

"I still hate him sometimes," the young knight said. "I hate how stubborn he is, and how he always gets himself in trouble. I hate the silent grin he wears after a battle." Galahad shrugged. "But he has his reasons."

Nasica had no idea what that meant.

"Sure he does," she muttered.

"Yes," Galahad said, plowing by her sarcasm. "When he was in Rome, the man holding him there threatened Arthur's life and even Britain's existence. It was Tristan's loyalty that saved us all."

Nasica stared at the young knight. He turned his horse towards hers, and the horse fidgeted from side to side. He clucked his tongue, drawing his horse's attention.

"I thought you should know that, before you really condemn him," Galahad said. And then he rode ahead with the others.

Her first impression was to argue with him. It felt like she'd just been scolded. Like she was wrong—and she hated being wrong. Nasica stewed between anger and reason as she rode behind the other knights.

There was something about what Galahad said that tugged at her heart. It was the same way she felt when she saw the marauders hurt Tristan. _Pity._ But beyond the pity now, there started to emerge a bit of respect.

She scoffed at that. How could she respect Tristan? Even if what Galahad said was true, that Tristan really was sacrificing himself before to protect others, didn't that make him pathetic? Or gullible? Couldn't he have found a better way than to slay innocent people to protect another innocent people?

Resourceful, Tristan was not.

She could see him now, riding ahead, his eyeline constantly moving. As she followed the group, the surroundings dissipated as she focused on the scout.

He bent forward in his saddle, dodging a low tree limb. Suddenly he looked up at the sky, and held his arm out. Nasica noticed the hawk was around, and landed on his arm.

For a brief moment, she saw the tiniest smile tweak at Tristan's mouth as he greeted the bird. The hawk bobbed its head, and then bounced on its feet atop the scout's arm. It seemed very heartfelt—playful, caring, and with a depth she didn't understand coming from him.

Maybe . . .

. . . just maybe, Galahad was right. She couldn't completely judge him, yet.

Suddenly, her revelry was broken. Tristan's posture tensed, and he launched the bird to the sky. As the bird climbed high, the scout grabbed his bow and drew an arrow.

He turned directly to Arthur.

"Stay here."

And then Tristan urged his horse forward, disappearing through the thickening trees and snow.

-0-0-

There was something promising in Jaelynn's request to go for a ride around the fort. Gawain saw it as a good sign—Jaelynn wasn't behaving strangely, even after yet another traumatizing experience. How this girl survived—thrived, even—on life-threatening situations, he didn't know.

She galloped side by side with Gawain. Their horses were quite happy for the ride, especially the one Gawain had chosen for Jaelynn. It was an older mare, used to more field work than actual equestrian fun. Jaelynn had a gleeful grin on her face as she held on tight.

Gawain grinned too.

It was flurrying, and the wind as they cut through it made Jaelynn shiver. Gawain noticed the shake of her body, and pulled up slowly on the reins of his horse.

"Why don't we give the horses a break?" he said loud enough for her to hear. She nodded, and did well in handling her horse. They both slowed to a trot, and for a moment, the winter over the land looked magical.

Peaceful.

But it wasn't. Gawain knew how close utter turmoil was.

He hoped his grim thoughts weren't the same ones darkening Jaelynn's face. The serene surroundings didn't seem so great anymore, and she looked down at the saddle horn. Gawain wondered how long before she spoke, but he didn't force it. She would talk to him when she was ready. That time came minutes later as they turned one corner of the Wall.

"Gawain—" She stopped herself with a deep, evening breath. Gawain just waited. The gait of the horses rocked them back and forth in each saddle.

"How long have you—" Again, she cut herself off. Jaelynn shook her head, obviously frustrated with herself. "I'm just going to say it."

Gawain nodded encouragingly, though inside he was beginning to worry.

"How do you think Tristan sees me?" She gulped after finally releasing the question. Gawain blinked. He wasn't thrilled at being cornered on this subject, but he was glad it was him she was asking, and not anyone else.

When he didn't answer right away, Jaelynn began to ramble.

"I mean, I know I'm younger. I know he rescued me, and I owe him a lot. But does he think he's my protector, or—"

Gawain cut her off before things got out of hand.

"Jaelynn," he started, and then sighed. "You're really asking if you and Tristan could have a future."

The way she lowered her head, somewhat bashfully, told him yes.

"Well, to answer your first question, I think Tristan sees you as his redemption."

She frowned. Jaelynn actually looked pretty when she frowned—most women did not, he thought.

"I don't understand," she said. Gawain nodded and went on.

"He cares for you, more so than I have seen him care for any other," Gawain said, and he almost cringed when her eyes lit up. "It's not the same as how I feel for Lucinda, but . . . . Maybe it's just me, but I think by protecting you, he thinks he can be a better man."

Again, she frowned.

"I still don't understand."

Gawain felt pretty warm now, despite the cold. He tried not to show he was flustered.

"Tristan has done a lot he's not proud of," Gawain said, trying a different approach. "He looks out for you. He protects you. You saw that last night—it drives him mad to know you're in danger. And if he can keep you safe, maybe he's doing some good, enough to make up for some of the bad."

It took a minute for her to digest what he said. Gawain hoped she didn't take his words in a bad way. Any sort of concern from Tristan was significant, but he didn't want her to get excited either. Love certainly wasn't an emotion that motivated Tristan.

"And if he fails?" she asked suddenly.

Gawain didn't like that idea. He didn't like the idea of Jaelynn being hurt either. She was the epitome of a woman growing up but still maintaining a fierce innocence and independence that Gawain admired. It was something they all admired in her—even Tristan.

_But failure?_ What if Tristan failed?

"Tristan would at least avenge you," he said. He didn't say more. He hoped Jaelynn wouldn't really think about that, but one look at her face told him she already could see how Tristan would act.

Gawain wondered how many times she'd seen Tristan in action—when he first rescued her? When he faced the marauders? Last night even? Looking at her now, Jaelynn was somberly taking in his words and her own thoughts. The flurries stopped now, and Jaelynn brushed her fingers through her hair.

She nodded.

"He'll always see me as someone to protect, won't he?" she asked. "Unless I give him a reason not to."

_What does that mean? _Gawain didn't like where this was going.

"Jaelynn—"

"No," she cut him off, "Gawain, if I'm always the helpless little girl, how can he see me as anything more?"

Gawain pulled up on the reins, halting his horse.

"You're not a helpless—"

"I know, but I was," she said. Her brown eyes were alight with her energetic persistence. "I want to change, Gawain. I want to be better. Not helpless." Gawain watched her carefully. Her horse pranced a bit, emulating the same restlessness that her rider bore.

"What are you saying?" Gawain asked. He didn't really know that he wanted an answer, but Jaelynn needed something. He wasn't about to deny her it.

"Will you train me?" she asked. She gulped. "I mean, so I can defend myself."

Immediately he shook his head.

"No. You're doing this for the wrong reason," he said. He felt a little foolish saying that—hadn't he heard Lucinda and her gal friends talking similarly about another situation? But it applied here. "You don't have anything to prove, to anyone."

Jaelynn's eyes flashed briefly, and she leaned forward in her saddle. "I have something to prove to _myself_, Gawain." That fiery flare in her personality was coming out. "How many times have I been in danger, and can't do a single thing about it? I've _watched,_ Gawain, when evil men have killed my own family. It's not just about me and my safety. What about everyone around me? I can't rely on fortune to fall favorably on me all the time, and I can't just hope people won't get hurt."

She shook her head angrily. Gawain saw the frustration and worse, the bubbling of emotion.

"Gawain, please," she pleaded softly.

_Tristan won't like this._ But Tristan wasn't the one Jaelynn was asking. There was a reason for that, and as much as Gawain hated to be caught in the middle, he would face whatever ire Tristan had from this.

Slowly, Gawain nodded.

-0-0-

She was still brooding guiltily over her verbal attack on Tristan when she heard him yell out. Snapping her head to the sound of his voice, Nasica saw Tristan suddenly burst from the trees. In his hands were his bow and an arrow. He let it fly, right at Arthur.

Nasica gasped, instantly thinking the worst. But the arrow flew right by Arthur's head, and thudded into someone behind him.

One of the Romans. _Maro._

That's when the battle began. There were only four Romans left, but they had been waiting. Nasica saw one of her people trigger a trap, which sent wooden spikes through the Briton's thigh. Nasica grimaced, but she couldn't help him yet.

She drew her sword, and went into the fray. She joined a fight with Galahad, and the two of them paired against Cicero.

A grin came to her face as she took turns with Galahad, dueling against Cicero. The Roman didn't like being outmatched, but Nasica had no problem with it. These Roman dogs came, deceived and tried to hurt the king's son. They deserved to die.

She slashed at the Roman, and he lost his footing. Nasica stepped back while Galahad finished him off.

She turned and ran for another target.

And then an arrow pierced her, right below her rib cage.


	15. Failure Has Its Consequences

**a/n: **Sorry! Again, I wanted to have the update sooner than this, but it just didn't happen. I'm going to stop making promises about my update times. But, to make up for it, I think you guys will really like this chapter. As always, let me know what you think. I wish I could get to everything that I wanted to, all the reactions and so forth, but I just run out of time and space. Hopefully, it still flows though. Thanks for reading!

**Failure Has Its Consequences**

He almost got himself killed when he saw Nasica fall to the ground. Tristan's opponent stabbed at him, and only a blink of an eye was the difference between life and death. Tristan locked his blade with the Roman he was fighting, and then pushed him away. Someone else could deal with him.

Tristan ran across the snowy ground, his eyes on Nasica. Who had shot her?

Almost an answer to his question, Tristan saw the man run towards her, his sword raised high. It was Octavius, and of all the people to attack, he was going to run through the woman who was rendered helpless.

Dread beat through Tristan's heart. He pushed himself to run faster than he ever had, and let free a battle cry from his lips. Octavius saw him, and he turned to defend himself. It was enough to distract him from Nasica.

Tristan barreled over him, knocking the wind out of him and the Roman both. He rolled away, and found his feet before Octavius did. Tristan launched into an attack, not caring if honor might dictate waiting for the man to be somewhat ready. This was battle, and everything about this man showed he had no honor.

The swords clanged loudly, but the blood beating through his veins was all Tristan heard. It pounded in his head, and with each killing stroke that failed to do the job, Tristan wondered how many beats Nasica had left from her heart. Octavius was holding his own well, and Tristan was practically letting him kill Nasica slowly.

_Finish this!_ He didn't even care if he made the man suffer. Nasica was bleeding behind him. She was still alive—he knew it. He could feel her eyes on him. Meanwhile, his anger and eagerness to kill Octavius made him sloppy. Tristan took several steps back, distancing himself. His braids swayed into his sight, and out again. He tightened his grip on his sword. That's when he realized he'd switched to a one-handed stance.

He frowned. He didn't normally fight one-handed. It wasn't controlled enough. It was weaker, no matter what. Two hands were always better than one. _So what are you doing?_

Tristan doubled up his grip, and took a steadying breath. He watched Octavius, who appeared as cocky as a Roman nobleman.

"The assassin," Octavius noted, a sly grin on his face. He had blood smeared on his cheek, most likely not his own. Tristan didn't move visibly, but his hands flexed around the hilt of his sword. "It's a shame Tacitus wasn't able to use that to his advantage more."

_He used it enough._ In Tristan's mind flashed images of the night before, of seeing Jaelynn pinned to the ground, with that Roman attacking her. Tristan wasn't about to be goaded to death with the Roman's barbs. He swung with his sword.

"Tristan!"

It was Arthur, he knew. There was an authoritative demand from his tone. Arthur wanted in. Tristan could understand why—this bold Roman had tried to take Arthur's son, and had deceived them all.

But Tristan wouldn't step aside. This was his fight—more so than Arthur's. The only two people he really cared dearly for—the only two women—had been targeted by the exiled Romans. And for Jaelynn and Nasica, he would finish this.

The sounds of his battle were all he heard. The other Romans were dead. He could hear the sounds of the wounded, but couldn't pick out Nasica. He had to see her.

He blocked a downward stroke with his sword. The stroke was meant to slice him from the collar bone to his stomach. Tristan dropped to one knee, and then pushed back up with his sword. He twisted, turning his back on Octavius. As he twisted, he slashed his sword over the man's chest and only saw the knights and Arthur staring behind him while he heard Octavius' body drop.

That's when he saw Nasica. Galahad was trying to tend to her, but she lay limply on the ground. Tristan didn't bother checking if Octavius was fully dead; he sheathed his bloody sword and ran to her.

-0-0-

Early the next morning, Jaelynn panted and faced Gawain. Her breath created little white clouds in the air, but she tried to ignore it and just focus.

She wasn't really fighting. Well, she was trying, but right now she could barely keep her footing. Gawain was teaching her to defend herself against a weaponless attack. Based on how she was doing so far, she didn't stand a chance once weapons were involved.

Luckily, Gawain didn't seem annoyed by her lack of skill.

"All right," he said, standing up straight. "I know you're tense, and that's okay, but you have to trust yourself. You have to trust your arms and legs to act." He motioned for her to advance. "Let's try it again."

Jaelynn nodded, eager but not sure her limbs could move as naturally as he said they would. She took two steps forward, and that's when Gawain made to grab her.

She shrieked. Right away, she regretted ever asking for his help—and for shrieking. Gawain seized her, and Jaelynn found that she just thrashed uselessly in his grasp. Gawain chuckled and released her.

Her face was bright red, she knew.

"Jaelynn," he said, but she didn't really want to look at him. "Jaelynn, relax. Come here."

He grabbed her hand and pulled her over to sit down. They sat side by side. He kept his grip on her hand. Jaelynn started to feel uncomfortable, but then he raised her hand for her to see.

"This is just as much a weapon as any part of you," he said.

She huffed. "Yeah, but I didn't do anything." He didn't deny that, she noted grimly.

"Any movement you make when you're under attack is better than none." He stood. "Use your limbs. Your elbows, hands, knees and feet are perfect for defense." He motioned for her to stand. "Do what I do."

He balled his fists, and Jaelynn followed. Slowly, he extended his arm at her, his fist still tight. He nodded, and Jaelynn did the same towards him. He smiled, and then he turned sideways. He brought his arm up and led with his elbow at Jaelynn.

She felt herself smiling too. She knew these moves—not having done them herself, but she'd seen the knights fight before. Jaelynn turned and led with her elbow as well. When she lightly touched her elbow against Gawain's chest, Gawain turned to face her quickly, and grabbed her hand.

Alarmed, she almost shrieked again. But Gawain held her up while he kicked just inches away from the back of her legs. He nodded for her turn. Jaelynn found her footing, and kicked the air behind Gawain's legs.

"Good," he praised. Jaelynn breathed a sigh of relief, and stood a little more comfortably. "Another thing you can do is stay out of reach. Again?"

Jaelynn nodded without thinking.

And then Gawain picked up the pace.

She could hardly follow his movements. Her heart began to race, even though this was just training. He grabbed for her, and Jaelynn dodged him and stepped away. Gawain chased her around the training yard, with Jaelynn barely missing his attacks. The knight turned back and quite deliberately balled his fists before relaxing them and reaching for her again.

_Right. Fight back_. She couldn't run away for ever.

He seized her by the wrist and pulled her towards him. Jaelynn felt a few memories start to surface, making her heart beat faster. _Fight!_

She pulled away, but not from his grasp completely. Using her free arm, she swung at him. It was clumsy, and it missed him, but Gawain nodded encouragingly. His grip was firm still and he gave her arm a slight tug just to remind her she wasn't free.

Jaelynn leaned towards him and brought her knee up. Gawain jumped back with a look of alarm, but Jaelynn didn't stop. She hit him in the stomach with her fist and pulled away quickly.

Gawain came at her again, this time more aggressively. _Did I hurt him?_ She doubted it by the grin he wore. Gawain grabbed her by the shoulders, his arms encircling her completely. Jaelynn squirmed in his hold, but he just held on tighter.

In the background, she heard horses running, but she kept her focus. Gawain had told her that you have to know what is going on around you, but you have to pay more attention to the fight you're in.

Though her shoulders were pinned, she could still move her lower arms. She threw her elbow into Gawain's stomach, and after hearing him grunt, she did it again until he released her. Jaelynn spun around to face him, and kicked him behind the knees.

Gawain fell down.

"I did it!" she exclaimed happily. Gawain half-glared at her, but she saw a bit of sparkle in his eyes. It faded as he looked beyond her.

Jaelynn turned and saw Tristan galloping up. There were more horses and riders behind him, but they were further back. She frowned as soon as she saw Tristan was holding a body in front of him.

He dismounted first, and gently pulled the body down. Jaelynn gasped when she saw who it was.

"Nasica," she said aloud. Tristan nodded.

"She needs a healer," he said. "Others too." Gawain was on his feet now.

"I'll get Hilden," Jaelynn declared. "Take her to the healing rooms." She ran off, and missed the curiously dangerous look Tristan shot Gawain.

"Training," Gawain explained in a single word.

The scout raised an eyebrow.

"Hers or yours?"

-0-0-

The healing rooms had never been so busy, not since she started working with Hilden. Amazingly, Hilden didn't seem stressed. He methodically directed Jaelynn to get this or that while he attended five wounded people.

One was Nasica. He had already looked over her, and by the defeated but pleasant look he gave to the barely-conscious woman, Jaelynn knew she wouldn't be saved. Tristan stood out of the way, but close to where Nasica lay. His face was blank; his eyes stayed on the wounded Briton.

Jaelynn bandaged a nasty stab wound in one man's leg. The man was calmly holding himself back from showing the pain. Sweat lightly shone on his forehead, but he tried to smile as if he was fine. He would be fine, and Jaelynn finished tying off the bandage.

She turned to survey what was next. Hilden leaned over a wound he was stitching. She wondered why he was not stitching Nasica's arrow wound.

"Hilden," she said quietly. The healer glanced at her briefly.

"What is it, Jaelynn?"

Her eyes flickered to Nasica.

"Can we do nothing for her?" she whispered. Hilden sighed but continued his work.

"She won't survive," he said.

"Can't we try?" she asked, and Hilden shot her a reproving glare. She was stepping over a line. She tried again. "Shouldn't we stitch the wound at least?"

Hilden shook his head.

"She is bleeding inside. The blood will just swell within her, and maybe cause more complications," he said. He shot her another look, as if to dismiss her from what she didn't understand. Jaelynn frowned and turned away.

Tristan had been watching her, but his eyes were now back on Nasica. There was worry there.

"Hilden," she called again, and the healer sighed out, clearly annoyed. "What can I do to make her more comfortable?"

Hilden frowned. Slowly, his features softened. His eyes flickered to Nasica.

"Change the bandages when the blood becomes too much," he ordered quietly. "She won't last long, but give her a numbing tea. Keep her still and warm. She'll feel colder when it is time."

A lump rose in the back of her throat. Jaelynn didn't want to hear this, but it was a reality. Patients die. And Nasica would most likely be her first one. It was terrible, knowing the death was coming.

Seeing Tristan watch her made it worse. Jaelynn could only imagine how this would affect him. And though she wished she was the one that captured his attention so, she couldn't feel any ire against Nasica.

She cleared her thoughts and spurred herself into action. Nasica was kept to a corner of the room. It was out of the way, and eerily dark. She wondered if that was a sign by itself. She grabbed several cloth strips and also the numbing herbs.

"Tristan," she said softly. He looked directly at her. He was alert, but fatigue and maybe more was weighing him down. "Can you fetch some hot water?"

Without questioning why, he nodded and was gone before she could add that he could bring a cup. _No matter_, she thought. There were a few extra cups around that she could use.

Jaelynn went to Nasica's side. She pulled back the blankets covering the woman and started to remove the bandages. The arrow had punctured below her ribs, and judging by the dark, thick blood, it had hit vital areas inside the woman's body. Jaelynn frowned.

Nasica's eyes fluttered while Jaelynn worked. She muttered something.

"Nasica?" Jaelynn called softly, trying to bring the woman around. Maybe if she was conscious she had a better chance. Could she really die? Jaelynn wanted to stop that. She would try, at least.

The bandages were soaked through. Jaelynn put them aside and pressed a fresh cloth over the wound. It was a small wound, in comparison to what she'd seen on the others. But something so small still was destroying the life in front of her. It seemed so backwards.

Jaelynn mixed some herbs together to fight infection. They also encouraged the area to clot and heal. She smeared it gently over the wound, and then covered it again with bandages. She was finishing wrapping Nasica's torso when Tristan returned with a pot of hot water.

"Set it on the table," she told him. She covered Nasica with a mountain of blankets, fearing the cold that Hilden warned her about.

Tristan looked uncomfortable as he watched her work. Jaelynn wondered why. She frowned, but she couldn't consider it now. _Numbing drink_, she reminded herself. She picked a vial of herbs off the medicinal shelf and put it in a little cup. Using a wooden spoon, she crushed the herbs.

The hot water Tristan brought dissolved the herbs quickly. Jaelynn blew at the liquid, trying to cool it enough to be consumed.

"Can you lift her so she can drink?" she asked. Tristan nodded. He wasted no time in helping. He propped Nasica up at a slight angle; it was enough. The woman parted her lips slightly when the cup was pressed against her mouth.

"Drink, Nasica," Jaelynn whispered. "It will ease the pain." She didn't notice how Tristan stared at her while she administered the drink. "It will make her rest for awhile." She glanced to Tristan. He nodded and laid the woman back down.

-0-0-

From what he saw, Hilden had already given up on Nasica. The healer was gone, satisfied that all the others would heal, and now he was resting. Jaelynn declared she would stay to watch over Nasica.

Tristan offered a slight smile to her for that.

They sat across from each other with Nasica in between them. Jaelynn was tired, he could tell, but they all were. Tristan's body felt like it would fail him any moment, but he couldn't give in. He wanted to be awake if Nasica woke.

He wanted her to live He couldn't control if she would or not. He knew that. And he knew she probably wouldn't live. She probably wouldn't wake again. He hoped she would though. He didn't want their last encounter to be the awful one on their trip, with her accusations, and his silence. _Why didn't I tell her?_ If she knew what really happened, would she see him differently?

It didn't matter. Tristan held no hope for Nasica's love. He had moved on, hadn't he? Or was seeing her now bringing him back to her?

"Are you all right?" a soft voice asked him. Tristan blinked and looked to Jaelynn. Her brown hair was swept up in a bun, but little tendrils stuck out from the bun and framed her face. Her face held a glow and liveliness that didn't match with how tired she must have been. Tristan nodded.

"You?" he asked. She nodded back. She seemed much more confident and at ease now than when he'd been with her last. She was frail then, with good reason. But now, she was in charge, and yet so kind. _How does she do that?_

"So you found them?" she asked. "The Romans?" Tristan nodded.

"They're dead." His voice sounded just as dead when he said that. Jaelynn took it in stride.

"Good."

He tilted his head to the side. "You wanted them dead?" Not that he blamed her, but he was surprised.

Jaelynn shrugged. "They deserved it."

Tristan wondered if Jaelynn hadn't known him before if she'd think he deserved death.

"We all make mistakes and do bad things," she continued, drawing him back, "but they meant them. They _wanted_ to do evil." Again, she shrugged. "Death is necessary sometimes."

He didn't move. Tristan just thought about what she said. Was she right?

He had to agree with her in general, but when applied to him, her words absolved him and his past to an extent. She didn't mean it that way, or at least he didn't think so. Could she? Could his time in Rome, his entire nature be absolved by intention? He didn't _want_ to do what's wrong. Yet he did, plenty of times over.

Did it matter though? To some people, it always would. For him, . . .

He was beginning to accept himself with Jaelynn's way of thinking.

He coughed, and ran his hand through his messy hair. He caught sight of his dirty hands. Glancing down, he noticed the blood on his clothes and armor. He hadn't even changed or cleaned up since he'd returned, and it was night now.

Suddenly Jaelynn stood and went to the cool pot of water. She poured some water in a clean dish, and dabbed a cloth in it.

"Take off your armor," she said, nodding at the blood and grime covering it. He was too tired to make her blush about the order, so he just obeyed. He handed her the armor, thinking she was going to wipe it down.

She dropped it on the floor. Tristan frowned.

"Here," she said, drawing nearer. Tristan leaned back in his chair but couldn't go further. Jaelynn was right there in front of him. He could feel the soft warmth of her body near his. It was comforting, disturbingly so. But Jaelynn had no spark in her eyes, no aim for seduction. _Calm down._ He sat stiffly, unsure of what she was going to do.

She gripped his chin in one hand and dabbed at his face with the cloth. _She's cleaning you._ An odd thing out of context, but Tristan didn't fight it. He titled his head to the side to give her better access. He felt the wet cloth trace paths down his cheek. She cleaned over his forehead, moving aside his bangs and then moving to the other side of his face. He turned his head the other way.

She rewet the cloth. He watched numbly as she twisted the cloth and wrung the water from it. The drops rolled off her hands.

Jaelynn came back to him and resumed her task. With one finger, she tilted his chin up. His neck was next. He found his eyes closing while she cleaned away the grime.

"Battle is dirty, isn't it?" she commented. Opening his eyes, he saw she was wringing out the cloth. The water was clouded with red blood and black dirt. He smiled.

"Yeah." She grinned and dumped the filthy water in a chamber pot. She filled the bowl with new water. A new cloth was wet, and then she passed it to him.

"For your hands," she said. He nodded and took it.

"Why were you fighting Gawain?" he asked. The cloth was quickly turning red and gray, but Jaelynn's face was just turning red.

"I . . . I asked him to teach me," she said. He raised an eyebrow at that. "I want to learn."

He couldn't fault her for that. He wasn't thrilled about it either. For some reason, it bothered him that Gawain was teaching her . . .

But he just nodded, too tired to think of why.

"When's the last time you slept?" she asked. She frowned, making her forehead crinkle a bit. Tristan almost grinned. He always thought it was funny when she was concerned about him. If she were anyone else, he would be annoyed.

"I'm okay," he said.

"Liar."

He raised an eyebrow. "I've been called a lot of names." She rolled her eyes, and Tristan had to smile. He relented. "I slept two nights ago."

She didn't believe him, he could tell.

"Not much," she said, finding the answer herself. "You couldn't have, with me there. And besides, that _was_ two nights ago."

He shrugged, and finished with the cloth. He tossed it towards a pile of soiled cloths.

"You worry too much," he said. She glared at him, but he could tell it was playful. He looked down to hide a grin.

"He does speak." Tristan almost jumped. Looking up, he saw Nasica, who seemed amused despite her condition. _She's alive._ Tristan stood up and leaned over her. Jaelynn was already at her side.

"How are you feeling?" Jaelynn asked gently.

Nasica grimaced in response. Jaelynn dabbed a clean wet cloth over the woman's forehead. She swallowed, and looked to Tristan.

"Can you take over?" she asked. Tristan just blinked. Jaelynn grabbed his hand lightly, and put the cloth in it. "I'll fetch Hilden."

She turned and left, leaving the scout with the Briton woman. Even though Nasica was far weaker than he, Tristan felt vulnerable. He steeled himself, and tried to remember what Jaelynn wanted him to do.

He wiped the cool cloth over Nasica's forehead. Her eyes were staring at his, and he tried to ignore that. He wouldn't allow himself to look at her, not beyond his task.

"I'm surprised you're here," she said. Her voice was proof of how weak and fragile she was. Instead of fiery words, she struggled to breathe after each. The sentence itself made her shut her eyes. Tristan leaned closer, concerned.

"Nasica?"

Slowly, she opened her eyes. "Did I scare you?" she said. A smile played on her lips. If Tristan wasn't glad she was awake, he would have shaken her. He glared at her for a second and then returned his attention to the wet cloth in his hand.

"Have a sense of humor," she said. "Dumb scout."

He rolled his eyes at her rasping breaths.

"Stop talking," he ordered. "You'll hurt yourself."

She chuckled, but it never really made it to true laughter. Her breaths came as wet garbled gasps. Tristan didn't know what to do. He turned a couple of times until he found the cup of numbing herbs with water. There was just a little left, but he brought it to the woman's lips.

"Drink," he said, and she did. As if that effort alone was too much, she laid her head back against the cot she was on. Tristan glanced at the door. Where was Hilden and Jaelynn?

"I was wrong," she said. She took a few breaths, shutting her eyes as she regained some strength. Her eyes opened again, looking him straight in the eyes, even with his hair blocking her view of them. "You didn't deserve what I said. And I respect you."

She started to cough, and suddenly Hilden and Jaelynn returned. Tristan was pushed out of the way, and Hilden started to look over Nasica.

He retreated back, but didn't leave the room. Her words still rang in his ears.

Somehow, even though she was struggling to live, Tristan felt hope.

-0-0-

Nasica fell back asleep, or rather, slipped back into unconsciousness. Hilden still wasn't optimistic. Jaelynn had to change her bandages again, and the bleeding hadn't stopped. It had slowed though, and that made Jaelynn hope.

She wasn't ready for someone to die. Especially not Nasica. Because of Tristan, it would make her feel guilty.

The scout succumbed to his own exhaustion two hours ago. Jaelynn was surprised he could sleep that long out here, sitting up in a chair with his arms crossed. But she was glad he was resting. He needed it.

Hilden returned to bed as well. Despite his warnings to take care of herself, Jaelynn sat by Nasica's side.

The woman looked paler now. She was shaking a little. Jaelynn found another blanket and covered Nasica. Was it just her, or was there a slight blue tint to the woman's face? Jaelynn added her own blanket to the pile on Nasica.

It must have worked, because Nasica stopped shaking.

Jaelynn sighed, relieved. She leaned her head forward in her hands, with her elbows propped against the high cot Nasica lay on._ I'm so sleepy._ As if to rub it in, she yawned. She shook her head. _Focus. You have to stay awake._

_Nasica._

The mound of blankets wasn't moving with her anymore. Nasica wasn't breathing. Jaelynn got up quickly and watched.

No, Nasica wasn't breathing.

Jaelynn felt the woman's neck as Hilden taught her. No thump beneath the skin hit her fingers. Nasica's heart had given out. Jaelynn noticed how cold the woman's flesh was.

Tears pricked at her eyes, but now wasn't the time. She leaned over Nasica, putting her ear above her mouth and nose. She heard no breath.

_She died._

Looking at Tristan, he appeared as blank as he normally was. Jaelynn thought of how tired he was already. For a moment, she considered letting him sleep. But she knew he would want to know.

She dreaded what she was about to do.


	16. When It Rains, It Floods

**a/n:** This is a little short, but I hope to follow up with my next chapter in the next day or two. I have a good outline of the next chapter, so it should come together quickly. In the meantime, let me know what you think about this chapter. Thanks for reading!

**When It Rains, It Floods**

"Tristan." She only had to call his name once and the scout's eyes opened. Jaelynn swallowed.

_How do I tell him?_

She didn't need to. His eyes drifted to the still form behind her. For a brief moment, Tristan's eyes widened, and then he looked to Jaelynn.

She nodded once.

He stared at the ground, and nodded back.

Neither one moved for a minute. It was still sinking into Jaelynn; she imagined it was just starting to tear into Tristan. But the scout calmly rose. He tried to smile, but it didn't work. Tristan had a hard enough time smiling regularly—forcing it was impossible. Jaelynn felt the tears wet her eyes again. Quickly she blinked them away.

"Tristan . . ." What could she really say? He laid a hand on her shoulder and patted it once. Then he headed for the door.

_I'm sorry._ Jaelynn tried to say it. It got caught in her throat, but Tristan was already gone.

Jaelynn turned to Nasica's body. She didn't know what to do now.

-0-0-

Waking up in the middle of the night was hardly a great thing, and tonight was no different. Tristan still was fighting his thoughts, not wanting to think about Nasica. He headed to the tavern, knowing it was probably too late, but maybe something to drink could be found.

Sure enough, the tavern was quiet, but two or three stragglers were finishing up. Tristan went to the weary barmaid and nodded at her. She poured him a drink.

"Tristan," he heard behind him. Gawain waved at him from his usual table. Tristan took his drink first, downing the entire cup and getting a refill before he made his way to Gawain.

He sat without saying a word.

"You look awful," Gawain noted bluntly. His nose crinkled. "Have you even bathed?"

Tristan shook his head. He left his armor in the healing room. He'd get it later. He didn't want to go back right now.

"Where you been?" Gawain asked, a slight slur to his words. Tristan glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

"Healing rooms."

Gawain nodded and drank from his dwindling cup. "How is everyone? The woman?"

"She's dead," Tristan said. His voice sounded more hollow than usual. "The others are fine." He tilted back his head and drank several gulps, missing Gawain's stare.

"You cared for her," Gawain said. Tristan almost choked. "Nasica." He let out a low whistle. "No chance with her, friend."

Tristan glared at him. "'Course not. She's dead."

It was Gawain who glared next. "Idiot. No, she is—was—out of your reach."

Tristan tried not to hold Gawain's words against him, but they just twisted the knife deeper within his heart, and Gawain being half-drunk was no excuse.

"So I've been told," he muttered. Gawain grinned.

"Who told? You did something about it?"

Tristan rolled his eyes. He could maybe imagine having this conversation a few nights ago, but now, it grated him. It almost bordered on disrespect.

"Does it matter now?"

Gawain shut up for a moment. But just one moment. The long-haired knight shook his head. "Poor Jaelynn."

Tristan frowned. He wasn't sure why Gawain pitied her. She wasn't dead—he didn't wish that at all, but Nasica's body was getting cold.

"Why do you say that?" he asked. He noticed the warmth of the ale in his empty stomach. It was a little queasy, but he didn't care enough. Feeling nausea distracted him a bit.

"Do you remember the first time you killed?" Gawain asked. Tristan's frown deepened. "For Jaelynn, to heal, and to lose someone, it's like your first kill. She'll take it hard."

He hadn't thought about that. All he could think about once he knew about Nasica was to leave as emotionlessly as possible. Tristan shrugged without considering it further.

"She's strong," he said. "She'll be fine."

Gawain huffed. "Stupid scout," he muttered. Tristan shot him a glare.

"You sound like Galahad."

That made Gawain laugh. The noise made one of the other drunken patrons jump a little from his stupor.

"Well, you are," Gawain continued. He shook his head. "You go after a woman like Nasica—may she rest in peace—and ignore the sweetest woman ever, who loves you for some reason."

Tristan groaned. He threw back his head and drained the ale.

"What's wrong with Nasica?" Tristan asked, wiping his mouth a few seconds later. The question came as a growl; it didn't faze Gawain.

"Nothing," Gawain started, "if you want a beating. You always have to make it hard for yourself, don't you? If you had any sense, you would see how great Jaelynn is."

Tristan rolled his tired eyes.

"Then you court her," he grumbled. He felt guilty for even saying that, but it passed too quickly.

"I would," Gawain started. Tristan almost choked on his own tongue. "If I weren't with Lucinda, Jaelynn would be my next choice. I'm not stupid."

Again, Tristan fixed him with a glare. He leaned back and glanced under the table.

"You sure Galahad's not here?" he grumbled.

Gawain roared, spewing drink with his laughter.

It took him a few moments to collect himself, during which Tristan sat silently. When Gawain finally settled down, Tristan felt the knight studying him.

"I'm sorry about Nasica," he said. Tristan shrugged the words off. He didn't need pity or— "She was a nice woman, and a good fighter." Tristan stared at his empty cup. "Just one question."

Tristan nodded for him to go on.

"What made her so much better than Jaelynn?"

His first reaction was to reject the question. Tristan almost got up and left, but something held him back. The words repeated in his mind. He never considered Jaelynn seriously, even with the awkwardly intimate moments between them, and he knew why.

"Nasica's a woman. Jaelynn's a girl," he mumbled. Immediately, Gawain smacked him in the back of his head. Tristan felt his anger rise, but he controlled himself and just stared impassively at the knight.

"You say that now," Gawain said, "but she's a better woman than most around here. By the time you realize that, she'll be taken."

Silence fell between them. Tristan tried not to dwell on what Gawain said. But he thought about how Jaelynn had cleaned him up. For a moment there, he saw a glimpse of 'woman' that surprised him. There was nothing seductive in how she'd cared for him, but yet, he saw it that way for the briefest of moments. Did it bother him? Or was he really just caught off-guard? Or--

"I'm teaching her to fight," Gawain said suddenly. "I'll get to the sword eventually, but she'd probably like to learn archery."

Tristan grunted.

"Do you want to help teach her?" Gawain asked. Tristan shook his head.

"Can't."

Gawain raised an eyebrow.

"Can't, or won't because you're a stubborn fool?"

Tristan stood. He slid the empty cup across the table. "Can't," he reaffirmed. "I'm leaving soon."

Gawain frowned.

"Another scouting trip? I didn't think Arthur would send you so soon."

Tristan didn't answer. He just turned away as the truth hit Gawain's face. He was half-way across the courtyard when Gawain had his last say-so.

"You'd never run from battle. Since when did you become a coward?"

The scout stopped in his tracks. For a second, he saw nothing but darkness as anger clouded his vision. With one breath, he made it disappear. He thought about throwing his dagger very close to Gawain's head. He thought about arguing with the man, but ultimately, it didn't matter.

He left, with a new label attached to his name.

_Coward._

-0-0-

She felt like crying. If there was time, she would have let herself. Soft rays of morning light were shining through the cracks in the shutters. The wounded were in their rooms and needed tending. Nasica's body was wrapped, ready to be removed.

Hilden said her burial spot was being prepared. The healer had returned during the early pre-dawn hours and showed Jaelynn how to wrap the body. It was tragically horrifying. Jaelynn's stomach was in painful knots during the process, and she felt her body waver.

Now, she tried not to look at it. _At her._ Nasica was still a person, and Jaelynn refused to make her death impersonal by referring to the body as some object. In her heart, with the sickening feeling there, Jaelynn knew Nasica's death was anything but impersonal. It only added to the weariness of her body and spirit.

"Jaelynn," Hilden called, catching her during her daze. He frowned, but there was a sympathetic look to it. He nodded at the door. "You should sleep."

"I'm fine—"

"Now, Jaelynn," Hilden said, his voice louder and more stern. "I've done this many times before without you. Sleep."

Maybe she was too tired to argue. She left the healing wing.

She held off thoughts and emotions until she was in her room. As soon as her door shut, the tears spilled over. Little paths formed down her cheeks. Jaelynn covered her mouth to muffle her sobs. She fell by her bedside and just buried her face in the blankets.

It was too much now. Too much to endure in a composed fashion. Nasica, dead. The lack of sleep. Tristan, and the look of sorrow on his face.

Tristan, and the quasi-normal, tender moments they shared.

She let the tears come without restraint.

And then someone knocked on the door. Jaelynn gasped, and then hiccupped over a sob.

"_Jaelynn?_" she heard.

_Tristan!_

A whimper escaped her lips, then a sob. He couldn't see her like this. Jaelynn wiped furiously at her face and tried to control the sob-hiccup pattern that she was developing. She didn't realize Tristan heard her.

He came in unbidden, and immediately he frowned at the sight of her. _Great_, Jaelynn thought. She tried to turn away or keep herself out of—

"What's wrong?" he asked.

_What's wrong? He was there!_ Only hours had passed since Nasica's death. Jaelynn gulped on a sob, and it came out as a strangled cry. She shook her head, almost to say she was fine. She doubted it was effective.

Tristan kneeled in front of her, and grasped her by the shoulders. He turned her towards him, making it impossible for her to hide. Jaelynn kept her face down, but then she felt one of his hands leave her shoulder and touch her chin. He tilted it up, and she saw the unease over his features.

"Jaelynn," he said, and despite her distress she reveled in the mumbled smoothness of his voice. "What's wrong?"

She tried to say something—it came as nothing intelligible. She settled on shaking her head and turning her head away from his touch.

He asked her again, but somehow his words just triggered more tears. She hated how she sounded. Why could some women cry gracefully, and look pretty, and here she was bawling and puffy and red and a blubbering mess?

Tristan leaned back, so that he relieved his knees and sat on the floor. With his movement, he pulled Jaelynn to him. She was concentrating too much on controlling her bawling, and it took a minute to register that Tristan was holding her. His arms felt so strong around her.

They sat like that, with Tristan just holding her while her cries slowly abated. What was he thinking during that time? Jaelynn knew what she was thinking—her thoughts flew about like a flock of birds, a dozen different thoughts and directions, moving so quickly through her head that she never came to any conclusion. Most of those thoughts were about Tristan, and the minority about her silly crying.

When she finally got control of herself, she expected Tristan to release her. But he didn't. Jaelynn didn't know if she should move first, or wait and see what he would do. She knew she wanted to see what he would do, but then she might be seen as being too needy, or—

_Shush!_

She hated herself sometimes.

She took a deep breath and released it slowly. It came out shuddering.

"You all right?" she heard from his chest.

_You should pull away now._ Reluctantly, she listened to herself. She swiped her eyes and nodded.

"Thank you," she said meekly. A ghost of a smile came over his face.

"It's okay," he said. "I came to thank _you_." When she frowned, he kept going. "She wasn't going to live. You took care of her anyway."

A small blush crept over her face, but she figured it would blend in with her splotchy red face anyway. She glanced at him. His hair obscured his eyes a bit, but she could see the tattoos on his cheekbones. He was looking down too as he spoke.

"Thank you," he finished up. And then he looked at her, and she stopped breathing for a moment as their eyes met.

"I'm sorry it didn't make a difference," she replied sadly. Tristan shook his head.

"It did. To her," he said, "and to me."

Despite his compliment, she felt her heart constrict. He was grateful, because of the kindness she showed Nasica—the woman he loved. 'Love' was probably a strong term, but his words were a testament that he did care for Nasica, and not her.

_That's not true._

He did care for her. And Jaelynn was grateful she held a small place in his heart. But it wasn't the place she wanted; the place was too small. She shook the thoughts from her mind, knowing Tristan was watching her.

"Are you okay?" she asked back. He shrugged at first, and started to nod but then stopped.

"I'll be fine," he said.

Somehow, that just made her feel more disappointed.

"I'm leaving today," he said. Jaelynn frowned. "I'll be back in a few weeks."

"Where are you going?"

He shrugged. "Don't know."

She understood. "This isn't for Arthur, then," she said. He didn't answer. His eyes just moved over her. Jaelynn felt exposed, like he was analyzing her. Could he tell she was saddened by his plans? She dreaded him leaving, being alone and maybe being in danger.

"Gawain says he'll keep training you," Tristan said out of the blue. "Be careful." He stood, no doubt to leave abruptly as he always did. Jaelynn stood with him.

"I will, if you'll be too," she said as he turned for the door. It made him stop, and even with his back turned towards her, she saw a smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

"I will."

-0-0-

He left as soon as he said goodbye to Jaelynn. Arthur wouldn't be terribly pleased, but Tristan didn't feel bad. Like Arthur had told him several times before, there were plenty of Britons to scout if needed.

His hawk was flying ahead, gliding on the gentle winds. He didn't call for her. She wasn't needed, but he was glad for the companionship.

Even so, he was alone. That's what he wanted—space, time to think, to be away from everyone.

He didn't want pressure right now. He didn't want the knights wondering about him, now that things had settled a little. He didn't want Gawain bugging him about Jaelynn, or Nasica. And he didn't want to wait around for the next attack or crisis.

He was tired.

_Old man_, he thought with a smirk. He was hardly that, not even close really. But the last 17 years, since he was taken from Sarmatia, were filled with experiences many did not have in three lifetimes.

Like being a servant for Rome.

Taking the lives of Woads.

Protecting vain and worthless men.

Suffering from countless wounds and scars.

Going to Rome.

Being an assassin.

Returning to Sarmatia.

Being an outcast.

That summed up where he was now, didn't it? Tristan fit in less now than ever. He didn't need to fit in though—he didn't care what people thought, right? But maybe he was tired of being on the outskirts of people's good opinion. He was tired of being feared, even if it had its uses.

He thought about Bors and Vanora. As insane as they seemed to be, especially with 11 or more children, Tristan envied them. At least Bors had a semblance of a normal life. The family life reminded him vaguely of what he'd left when he was a boy, in Sarmatia. Wouldn't his family want him to be happy now?

He didn't know.

He thought about Gawain and Lucinda. How happy they were. Thankfully, it _was _Lucinda, and not Jaelynn.

Tristan frowned as he rode his horse through the forest. Gawain had been joking, hadn't he? He was just trying to get a reaction from Tristan.

_So what? What if he _was_ with Jaelynn?_

Why did that bother him?

A clap of thunder jolted him from his thoughts. Tristan glanced to the sky above and found clouds darkening. He could hear the rain starting to fall ahead of him, not quite reaching him yet.

He wrapped his cloak around him, and waited for the wet drops to hit him.

The next morning, his things were still wet. It had rained through the night, and he had stopped for some cover under a thicket of trees, but it didn't help that much.

It only served to dampen his mood too. He scowled at the world while he rode through the soggy forest. He recognized where he was a little. He was crossing the path he'd taken when tracking the marauders.

He hadn't meant to, but now that he was here, he spurred his horse to follow the slight path. A dead body was nearby, judging by the smell.

A bit further, he saw something that caught his eye. It was half-buried in leaves and under a bush. Tristan pulled up on the reigns and slid off his horse. He went to the thing, somehow knowing it was important.

Kneeling by it, he brushed the leaves aside, and then stopped.

Slowly, he smiled.

It was his old sword. It was dirty, wet and in need of a good polish, but the curved edge of his blade was still sharp. He picked it up with a degree of reverence. Some semblance of peace filled him as he held it again.

He had his new sword, one he was growing accustomed to. But the Sarmatian sword was as much a part of him as his tattoos. Tristan wrapped the sword in a spar tunic, one that was only partially damp. He tucked it beneath the saddle strap, and then rode on.

He felt a little better now.


	17. Magnet for Trouble

**a/n:** Okay! Here it is! You can probably tell where I'm going after the end of this chapter, but I hope you'll still look forward to the next one. I'm working on it! Thanks for all your reviews! I look forward to hearing your feedback.

**Magnet for Trouble**

The candlelight flickered, casting shadows around a water basin. Arthur leaned against the doorway, watching while Guinevere smiled at their son. His son grinned, bearing gums and one tooth.

He moved to her side, dipping his hands into the water within the basin. Guinevere gave him a questioning look. He smiled and nodded for her to put the child in the basin. She did, and together they bathed their son.

"I've heard Tristan left," Gwen said lightly. Arthur nodded. He frowned as he thought about it, but didn't want anything to darken his mood. He made the frown disappear. "What errand did you send him on?"

Arthur looked away from the baby and met Gwen's eyes.

"I didn't send him," he said. "He didn't even tell me he was leaving, or why. I heard from Gawain."

"Why would he leave?" she asked. "He didn't even stay to honor Nasica?"

Arthur shook his head. "She might have been why he left."

The boy gurgled delightfully as the water washed over him. Despite their conversation, both parents grinned.

"Well, he will return when he's ready," Gwen declared confidently. Arthur said nothing in return, and she looked at him directly. "Arthur?"

"Yes," he said finally, "I'm sure he'll return."

Gwen looked anything but convinced. "Really." She stared at him until he noticed her disbelief in his words. Sheepishly, he offered a wayward smile.

"Can you blame me for worrying?" he asked. "That man insists on isolating himself when he should turn to those close to him."

"Is anyone close to him?" Gwen said with a gleam in her eyes. Arthur chuckled.

"We try," he said.

The baby kicked his legs excitedly, splashing water over the basin's edge. Droplets hit Arthur's clothes and arms, but he just admired his carefree son with a loving look.

"He will be ready to accept care when he forgives himself."

Arthur looked to his wife. How she saw into the scout, he didn't know. It was a gift she seemed to have, seeing the soul behind the man. He counted himself lucky that she still loved him.

Slowly, he nodded.

"In the meantime, I'll pray that he does not find trouble," Arthur said. Gwen smiled.

"We've had some skirmishes, but I think he can handle himself," she said. "Why would he be a scout if he couldn't?"

Arthur sighed, a trace of a laugh in his voice. "He is a great scout, and my trusted knight," he said, "but if there's one change I've noticed in Tristan over the years, it's that he is tied to trouble."

-0-0-

Hell. That must be what Tristan was destined for. He found enough of it on earth that he figured it was just a taste of what was to come.

For example, Tristan currently was surrounded by a group of angry men. They looked to be villagers, but Tristan was far enough away from the Wall that they did not recognize him as an ally.

"Drop your weapons!" one man spat at him. Tristan just gripped his sword harder. _Idiot._ He was just riding along, fully intending on staying a night in the village nearby. That's when he saw one of them. They were trying to hide and take him by surprise. It didn't work too well.

Which is why his horse kept rearing up, with Tristan holding on with one hand and brandishing his sword in the other.

"I'm not your enemy," he said. The men just jittered more at that.

"Prove it," another said, behind him. "Drop your weapons."

Tristan rolled his eyes. He held onto his sword.

Someone to the side yelled, drawing everyone's attention. The man—or boy—couldn't have been more than 20 years of age, and he proved it with his foolish actions. He charged at Tristan. Tristan blocked the boy's first stroke, and kicked him away.

Defending himself was enough to make everyone move. They charged at once. Tristan's horse reared again, kicking out with his front legs. Tristan barely held on. At the awkward angle, he turned to the nearest foe and blocked the attack.

He was simply outnumbered. Luckily, no one actually stabbed him, but they pulled him from his horse. He fell on his side, but he quickly had his sword up against downward blows. They weren't trying to kill him. The sword attacks were aimed at his hand and the blade, just to get him to release it.

Someone pulled at his armor, and Tristan punched at him. It made the man back off, and Tristan scrambled to the hole in the men's attack, gaining enough space that he found his feet. The men circled around him, their weapons—swords, sticks, and daggers—all pointed at him.

He could take them. He'd been outnumbered before, against skilled warriors. These were simple villagers, no doubt passionate about defending their land, but his skill would easily out-do them. There would be consequences though.

They would be wounded, or killed.

And they were Britons—technically, the people Arthur served and cared for. _But it's defense._

He knew that wasn't enough of a reason. These were good people, probably. Suspicious of him, misguided in who they attacked, but good people nonetheless.

"I serve Arthur," Tristan said. "I mean to pass through, and leave you in peace."

Murmurs traveled among the men. The young man huffed loudly at that.

"So you say," he scoffed. "He's lying!"

Tristan glared at him.

"We'll find out," said another man. "Surrender your weapons and you won't be hurt."

Again, Tristan rolled his eyes. He wasn't worried about him being hurt at all.

"You're making a mistake," he said. An older man, probably in his 40s, nodded.

"That's what we're afraid of."

Tristan frowned. If it weren't for the slight fear in the man's tone, he might just have attacked the men. But something about it made him see more had happened here, maybe something which warranted the way they treated him now.

Slowly, he lowered his sword.

"I want my weapons back," Tristan muttered at the older man. The man nodded, his eyes focused tensely on the scout's movements. Tristan lightly tossed the blade at his feet. He stripped his dagger from his side, and dropped it as well.

"Your knife," the man said, nodding at the small blade tucked in the chest of his armor. Tristan had hoped he wouldn't notice that, but he complied. The men converged on him then.

He didn't resist. They didn't bind him, but they surrounded him and had the tips of their swords within inches of his body.

"Walk," the older man ordered.

The village was small, but bustling as soon as he walked in view. His armed escort made for a different entrance than he'd planned, but hopefully they would work that out. Tristan was led to a hut, while his horse was led to a stable.

The men forced him to his knees in the middle of the hut. They circled around him, and waited. A white-bearded man came in, obviously elderly and looked to be the leader of the village. The brash young man was with him, helping the village elder along. The young man sneered at Tristan.

It took a minute for the elder to be settled, and then he spoke.

"Who are you?" he asked. His voice shook with age, but the look in his eyes said mentally the elder was in control.

Tristan had no desire to make this difficult. He answered.

"I'm a knight at Hadrian's Wall," he said. "I serve Arthur." The young man whispered into the elder's ear. The elder frowned.

"Why come here? What news does Arthur send?"

Tristan sighed. "None. I'm traveling through on my own errand."

Again, the young man whispered animatedly. The elder nodded along. Tristan wondered why a man of 'wisdom' would listen to such a whelp.

"But you threatened my village," the elder said. Tristan frowned. No, he hadn't. "You fought with our men."

"They ambushed me," Tristan responded. What, did they expect him to just wait for them to attack and do nothing about it? It was unrealistic. He wondered what made them so cautious, especially of someone like him who served the rightful king of Britain.

"My grandson says you have several weapons," the elder continued. Tristan narrowed his eyes at the young whelp. No wonder the elder listened to him.

"I'm a knight," Tristan said again.

"So you claim," the elder said. "But why does a knight have two different swords?" The grandson brought forward Tristan's sword and also his old, curved sword.

"Who did you kill for this sword?" the grandson piped up. The elder shot him a glare, but then he looked back to Tristan. He nodded at the sword. Seeing the old blade, Tristan saw not only the dirt from where he'd found it, but crusted blood from the marauders he'd killed the day he'd lost it.

Tristan could tell this interrogation wasn't going anywhere good for him.

"Both are mine," he said shortly. "I serve Arthur. Are you not loyal to him?"

The elder nodded.

"Then why do you question me?"

Mutterings traveled through the men. The elder glared at the knight. "I do not trust you." He extended his arm to his grandson, who helped the old man to his feet.

"You will stay here until we know the truth," the elder declared. Approval rumbled through the men, and Tristan didn't miss the gleeful smirk on the grandson's face. He made to stand, and he was hit in the back. The pain was sharp and traveled up his back. He fell on all fours.

"Do not hurt him," the elder said sternly to the men. "Trade comes from Hadrian's Wall soon. We will ask them if they know this man."

"And if they do not?" the grandson asked eagerly. The elder cast a weary look to the young man, and then ambled out of the hut with another's help.

Immediately, Tristan was seized. This no longer was a simple misunderstanding to him. For some reason, they wanted to doubt him, and Tristan wasn't about to be some fool waiting for undue trouble. He struggled from the hold on him, making two men lose their balance and fall.

He stood, but could do nothing more before someone tackled him. He was flattened on the dirt, lying on his stomach. Someone pinned his arms to the ground, and then he felt a hard hit to his head.

He didn't look forward to when he awoke.

-0-0-

Jaelynn dodged Gawain's swing over her head. He was still moving slow for her benefit, but Jaelynn tried to keep up and still breathe well. Training today had picked up in pace.

It was good for her, she realized. The physical work relieved the frustrations she had, with Nasica's death, with Tristan gone, everything. If she imagined her foe as someone other than Gawain, she saw the Romans, or the marauders, or even the Saxons who'd killed her father and village.

She stepped forward and thrust her wooden sword at Gawain. It tapped him in the stomach.

"Oof!" Gawain grunted. He lowered his sword, grinning. "Well done!"

Jaelynn smiled tightly and relaxed her stance. The knight was going easy on her, so she didn't delude herself into thinking she could seriously defeat him. But she was making progress. A week ago, she would barely have known how to hold a dagger.

"Should we take a break?" Gawain asked, eyeing her carefully. Jaelynn shook her head. Whenever she took a break, or had a lull in her day, she started to think. She didn't want to think anymore.

Gawain frowned, but he didn't say anything. Jaelynn bet he knew what bothered her, and luckily he was kind enough not to ask her about it.

They sparred for another hour, with Jaelynn losing frequently. Her thoughts kept wandering to –

"You're distracted," Gawain said after winning another fight. "If your mind isn't on your fight, your head won't be on your body for very long."

She grimaced at his words, but nodded somberly.

"You should rest," he said. Jaelynn frowned.

"I'm all right," she said. "Let's continue." Gawain crooked his eyebrow up.

"We've practiced for three hours already," he said. "You should go back to your duties. Besides, I need the rest too."

He smiled, and managed to draw a grin back from her. Jaelynn nodded.

She grabbed a medicinal log to read, one of many Hilden recommended, and moved to the edge of the town, out in the fields just outside the Wall. There was a particular tree, standing alone but fully in the field.

She waved to the guards on duty, and they waved back. She knew they kept an eye on her, even though the tree was just a stone's throw from the gates. It was something she accepted, after all her adventures.

The tree was slightly slick from the cold, damp air, but Jaelynn held firmly to the limbs and climbed up the tree. It certainly was easier in the tunic and breeches she wore from when she trained. Jaelynn pulled herself up to the heart of the tree and settled against the trunk and on a sturdy branch.

She removed the reading material from the waist of her pants, and started to read. Drawings and unusual words popped out at her, but she started to skim over them. Her mind wandered again.

She wondered if Tristan was all right. He'd distanced himself to grieve, but Jaelynn knew it could take a long while to heal from the death of another. And since she knew he loved Nasica, it would be harder.

How she hated herself. She knew Tristan couldn't see her beyond his protective charge, and yet she still hoped. Was she pining after him now? She rolled her eyes at herself and balled her fists.

_Stupid girl_, she thought. _When will you move on?_

She didn't know. But half of her didn't want to move on. She hadn't yet in the few years she'd lived at the Wall. What was another day?

She shook her head, and tried to focus on her reading. She needed to finish it before she reported to Hilden this afternoon.

-0-0-

When he awoke, Tristan found himself in a pit. Cold air assailed him, and glancing up, he saw why. The pit was dug in the earth, and all that kept him in was a wooden grate. The sky was easily visible, and he could see that he was near one of the village homes.

Except he was a good 12 feet lower.

He rubbed his head gingerly and stood. The villagers hadn't bound him. He thought that was odd, but then again, he was in a pit 12 feet below ground. Tristan tried his footing on the walls of earth around him. It was muddy, but he found enough leverage to get higher. He clawed at the walls, pulling himself up, until his hands met the wooden grate. He grasped it.

It was strong, and wide. It covered his pit and more, making it heavy and awkward. Tristan pushed on it, but something held it down. He turned and found large stones on top of the widest edges of the grate.

Tristan held onto the grate and peeked out. He had to bend himself at an awkward angle, but he could see the main part of the village.

The sun was setting, and villagers were lighting torches here and there for when night fell. A woman cast a glance in his direction, and she gasped when she saw him looking. She stepped back and hurried into a hut.

Tristan sighed and let himself drop to the bottom of the pit.

The pit was large enough for him to pace, which gave him something to do. Of course, it only took three moments to go around the whole space, but at least he could move. He wondered if they intended to keep him here the whole time, until someone came and vouched for him.

He sighed. If it was a simply townsperson, they may not vouch favorably for him.

"What is your name?" came a voice above him.

Tristan looked up. The annoying young man was there, kneeling over the grate and pit. He wore a disdainful expression, almost as if he would spit at any moment.

Tristan ignored him, and resumed his pacing. He wasn't about to give any information to this weasel. He'd already seen how the young man was eager to not trust him. Being that he had the village elder's ear, the scout saw no point in reasoning with him.

He fought a smile when his silence annoyed the young man.

"Answer me, you murdering bastard!" the grown grandson exclaimed.

Tristan glared at him. Who was this kid, to be so angry and demanding? Maybe he should have just given into instinct when he encountered the village men before, and just killed them. Or at least this one lad.

"I have killed," Tristan said, still ignoring the request for his name. "That happens when Sarmatian knights serve Rome."

The young man balled his fists.

"You call it service, but you killed so many," he said. Tristan's brow furrowed. "Too many."

Somehow, Tristan doubted the sheer number of his kills was what bothered the lad.

"You know I'm telling the truth," Tristan analyzed aloud. _He knows I'm a knight._ Judging by the young man's lack of a reaction, Tristan was right. _Why, then? Why lie about it, and keep me here?_

_He blames me._

Tristan raised his chin a little higher. "Who did I kill?"

The anger kept building in the young man, but with his rage came a look of young naïve revenge. He seemed like a twelve-year-old boy, instead of a young warrior.

"My father," he hissed. "It was you who attacked him in the woods."

Tristan raised an eyebrow. "How do you know?" He didn't doubt it. He'd killed a lot of Woads. Part of him was amazed that the land was as united as it was when the king had previously killed so many Woads himself.

"I saw you." Anger was turning to desperate grief right before his eyes. The young man's eyes were welling up, but they still glared at Tristan like he would strike him dead right there.

"Morlo!" someone called from beyond where Tristan could see. The voice sounded frail. _The village elder. _

The young man—Morlo—looked sharply towards the voice, but his features softened obediently.

"I am coming, grandfather." Morlo glanced back to the pit, and Tristan saw the anger still there, but in complete control now. He left without another word.

Tristan was glad to be alone again. He thought about whom Morlo's father might have been, but the number of men he slaughtered over the years was too great. But how long ago was it? At least three years ago, Tristan figured.

The sky was darkening quickly, and Tristan could hear the wind whipping through the nearby trees. It wasn't just the night coming.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and rain answered quickly. The rain fell through the wooden grate freely. It started out light and steady.

Tristan sat in the dirt, bending his legs so that his knees popped up. He leaned on them with his arms and just brooded over his latest dilemma. That's when the storm worsened. He could hear the rain falling harder, and the large drops soon soaked him through. Little streams of water poured over the edge of the pit, bringing with it runny mud. It collected at the base of the pit, right where Tristan feet were.

_Great._

He thought about sleeping, but the rain was coming down too loudly. To be honest, Tristan was growing concerned about it. More and more muddy water was filling his pit. He didn't think he'd drown or anything—rain like that wasn't too common this time of winter—but he had to stand now, or wallow like a pig in the increasing muck.

His body trembled. Tristan folded his arms across his chest, cringing at the cold wetness of his clothes against his skin.

". . . stubborn. I don't care if you don't trust him," came a woman's voice. It was hard to hear for all the rain, but she was getting closer. Tristan faced the direction the voice was coming from, curious and hopeful. "Bring him inside right now!"

A sigh.

"All right."

The grate was lifted, and there stood Morlo again, and by his side an elderly woman. She wore a sour expression on her face, but luckily it wasn't directed at Tristan.

"Climb out," Morlo ordered. He held Tristan's curved sword in his hand. The thought crossed his mind to kill the lad right there for handling the blade.

But first things first. Tristan pushed the tip of his foot into the muddy wall and reached up. His fingers slipped, but he dug in, one hand first, then the other. Morlo seemed to enjoy the messy spectacle.

"Go on in, grandmother," Morlo said. "This could take all night."

Tristan glared at him quickly before reaching higher for another hold. He had to rush to sink his fingers into the mud before his awkward position and his weight made him fall back.

He pulled himself up a little further and got one arm over the ground. Mud coated him, all over his clothes, and a decent amount underneath. He scowled.

"Hurry up, murderer," Morlo goaded. Tristan had his chest balancing on the edge of the pit when Morlo grabbed the back of his armor and clothes and pulled the rest of him to higher ground. Tristan grimaced; the mud was rubbed into all the crevices in his armor.

Tristan stood. He was about to wipe some of the mud off, but it was useless. He glanced up at the sky, hoping the rain would do some of the work.

"Inside." Morlo poked the sword against Tristan's back. The men moved towards a large, warm-looking hut. Anything looked warm to him at this point.

The old woman clucked at him when she saw the mess he was. Morlo frowned when he saw his grandmother fuss over Tristan. Part of the scout wanted to grin and rub that in, but he was shivering.

"Off, off!" she said. She pried at his muddy armor, while Morlo tried to maintain some defense for his grandmother. Tristan smirked.

"Stand back," Morlo said urgently. "Don't go near him, grandmoth—"

"I've killed more men than you have, Morlo," she snapped. She turned to Tristan. "The fire's strong. Go warm yourself." She handed him a clean length of cloth and swiped it over his face before he took it.

Tristan blinked.

"Be nice, Morlo," the woman said. She disappeared into another room. Tristan took her advice and went to the fire, with Morlo a step behind him. He heard Morlo draw a quick breath, right before he hit Tristan.

The punch landed in his lower back, to the side. Tristan fell to one knee, gasping at the sudden pain that multiplied up his whole back and through his stomach.

"Murderer," Morlo muttered. Tristan made himself sit just so he wouldn't fall altogether. Slowly, the pain started to dissipate, but he knew he would be sore. Wherever Morlo hit him, it was very effective. He'd have to remember that for later.

"You sure it was me?" Tristan asked. His voice held a slight rasp but he didn't really care. He grabbed the cloth the old woman had given him and started to wipe away the mud and dry himself.

"What?" Morlo glared at him. He seemed to have no other expression.

"You sure I killed your father?" Tristan repeated. Morlo raised the curved sword.

"Yes."

Tristan didn't say anything, but he could tell Morlo was thinking about it.

"I was watching, in the woods," he said, his voice falsely emotionless. "Ten years ago. You killed him—the knight with the tattoos on his face." Angrily, he jabbed the tip of the blade in Tristan's arm. Tristan hissed but quickly bit his tongue. It was naught but a slight cut, but it stung.

Putting his sorry physical state out of his mind for now, he thought about what Morlo said. _Knight with tattoos on his face. . ._

Obviously, it was him.

He considered apologizing but it just didn't make sense. Morlo didn't want an apology. He wanted his father back. And since that was impossible, he wanted revenge. No doubt he'd thought about—lived, dreamt, breathed for it—for the last ten years.

_And here you are, the perfect opportunity for that revenge._

Tristan decided he wouldn't sleep that night. He understood that Morlo hated him, rightly so, but if he tried anything, Tristan wasn't going to just accept being killed during the night.

Morlo sat rigidly across from Tristan, the blade never lax in his hands. It was an awkward length for the young man, and Tristan wondered if the kid was any good with a blade. _Maybe, with a blade that suited him._ For some reason, he thought back to when he first trained with that sword. No one thought he'd ever be able to handle such a long sword, and with an awkward curve to it.

They were wrong.

"You have nothing to say?" Morlo said. "No reason or excuse?"

Tristan shrugged. His cool demeanor threw Morlo off. _Good._

"What's to say?" Tristan mumbled. "I killed for Rome. I killed Woads, among others."

A look of disgust crossed over Morlo's face.

"Dogs," he spat, "all of you. You couldn't think for yourself? You knew what you did was wrong, and still you murdered."

Again, Tristan shrugged.

"You know Sarmatians had no choice," he said evenly. "You know what's wrong, and you plan to kill me."

Morlo didn't like that. He got to his feet and kicked Tristan across the face. The scout saw it coming, but he did nothing. The impact whipped his head to the side.

"Don't ever compare us," he said lowly. "I have cause enough to kill you and your entire line for what you've done."

Tristan raised an eyebrow. Morlo wasn't getting it. The scout decided not to call him on it for now.

"My entire line?" Tristan repeated. Morlo nodded. "Good thing it's just me left."

Morlo's anger faltered for a moment, digesting what Tristan said. He hadn't said it for sympathy, yet if it made Morlo think about his obsessive anger, Tristan was all right with it.

Morlo's face darkened. "My life changed that day, never to be the same," he said. "You will pay for it. You and anyone you hold dear."

For some reason, Tristan quickly thought of Jaelynn. _Not now._ He stared blankly at Morlo.

"If you want your revenge," he started, "take it. Now."

Morlo eagerly put the tip of the sword to Tristan's throat. His breathing quickened; he was really considering it.

_So be it._ Of all the opportunities for death over the last few years, maybe this one would be the most deserving. He had killed this boy's father. How fitting to be avenged years later—more fitting than being killed by the marauders for the slightest association with their grievances. It was more fitting than dying an unfulfilling death in Rome as an assassin. Maybe it was more fitting than dying at the hands of the Saxon king in battle.

Tristan didn't move. He didn't show any fear or pleading. He just waited.

The blade shook in Morlo's hand. Frustrated, he grasped the blade with both hands, but the shaking continued. The tip scratched back and forth against Tristan's throat. He could feel a bit of blood from it, yet Tristan did not move.

Morlo growled like a dog, but the sound became lower and more pathetic, until the lad realized he couldn't do it. He withdrew the blade and sat down angrily across the room.

Another time, Tristan might have smirked at the boy's incompetence. But it didn't seem right now. He glanced at Morlo, and then wiped away the drops of blood from his throat with his muddy cloth.


	18. Honor Regardless

**a/n:** I am very curious to see everyone's comments on this. Trust me, of course, though I'm sure you guys aren't terribly worried. But still, let me know what you think. I'll try to update quickly but my week is looking pretty jammed already. Thank you!

**Honor Regardless**

Hilden was bustling back and forth in the healing rooms. Jaelynn stood at the doorway, stepping aside when she was in the way, and overall just watching as he packed little items in vials and put them in a bag.

He sighed. The hurried manner said he was stressed, but Jaelynn wasn't sure why.

Suddenly he threw his hands in the air and groaned.

"I give up," he said. Jaelynn stepped forward.

"What's wrong?"

Hilden shook his head. "I'm supposed to have this all ready for you to take, and you leave too soon for me to—"

"What?" Jaelynn frowned. What was he talking about?

Hilden stopped, noticing her confusion. "Did I not tell you?" He muttered under his breath. "Of course I didn't. You have no idea what I'm talking about."

He ran his hand over his shorn hair, and blew out a long breath.

"I need you to go in my place with the caravan, and show some people how to use the herbs," Hilden said. "You're supposed to leave this morning. I think Galahad is going with you . . ." The healer went to the window. He nodded at whatever he saw.

"He's out there with the caravan." He turned to Jaelynn and offered a sheepish grin. "Can you be ready quickly?"

Jaelynn blinked rapidly. She tried to take it all in and figure out what had changed in just four sentences.

"I'm going with the caravan to show someone how to use herbs?" she tried. Hilden half-nodded.

"Yes, when you reach the village the caravan travels to," Hilden said. "The healer you should teach is named Opthalus. He's new. The last healer died unexpectedly."

_Teach?_ She was still being taught! How could she teach another when she—

"You better hurry, Jaelynn," Hilden interrupted her before she became frenzied. "Galahad is already glancing this way. Impatient man."

Jaelynn ran from the room. She had much to gather, and no time!

Hilden chuckled behind her.

"I'll just take the supplies directly to Galahad!" he yelled after her. Jaelynn waved over her shoulder without her step faltering a bit.

-0-0-

_He was back at the battle—the one with the Romans, who tried to deceive Arthur. _

_Octavius drew an arrow, his eyes gleaming darkly. He stretched the bow, turning his body ever so slightly to adjust his aim. He released the arrow._

_Tristan's eyes followed it. The arrow moved slowly, but still Tristan couldn't move fast enough. He tried; he yelled at her to move. It was already too late. _

_He ran to Nasica's side. He could see the blood already. Tristan turned her on her back, cradling her._

_But it wasn't Nasica anymore. Looking up at him was Jaelynn. Her face was ashen, and she wouldn't last long._

No,_ Tristan thought. _This isn't what happened._ He knew he was dreaming, and yet he didn't understand why it was different._

_Behind him, he heard Octavius. After gently laying Jaelynn down, he grabbed his sword, and turned to face the cowardly Roman._

_But again, it was different. Instead of Octavius, there was Morlo. _

_Fury beyond what he'd felt against Octavius rose within Tristan. He glanced back at Jaelynn, who was struggling for her last breaths. With a roar, Tristan attacked Morlo._

Something hit him. Twice.

Tristan opened his eyes, seeing Morlo before him. He had kicked the scout in the leg. _It was a dream_, he told himself. Morlo hadn't killed Jaelynn. Jaelynn was still alive.

But his heart was racing, and he couldn't suppress the anger and pain he felt. _He threatened her._ Wasn't that reason enough to attack?

Ordinarily, yes. But Morlo was incapable of killing Tristan—he proved that last night. That might change, but it showed that he wouldn't hurt anyone else. His hatred was trained too much on the scout.

"Up," Morlo ordered. The sword was back in hand, but Morlo looked to be on his best behavior. Tristan glanced beyond him and saw why. His grandparents were in the room.

Tristan stood. His back ached. He tried to stretch his muscles before Morlo prodded him forward. He sighed but didn't budge. He stared at Morlo until he had the kid's attention.

"Why are you afraid?" Tristan asked. The grandparents, especially the village elder, looked up. He had their attention too. "Why don't you trust me?"

Silence.

The old couple glanced at each other. Morlo conveniently look to the ground. Tristan clearly saw what he suspected when they questioned him—fear.

"What happened?"

Suddenly Morlo's face darkened.

"Out!" he said, poking him in the back with the sword.

"Make sure he gets something to eat!" the grandmother shouted as Morlo pushed him out the door. Tristan wasn't opposed to that, but he doubted Morlo would obey.

The village was coming to life in the morning light. The rain was still falling. Tristan suppressed a groan. He had no desire to be out in this weather again, especially as a captive.

The grate was open, waiting for him. Tristan glanced up at the sky. With the rain not letting up, he imagined the muck at the bottom of the pit was deep.

"Inside," Morlo order, nodding at the pit. Tristan turned to face the lad.

"What happened?"

Morlo glared at the scout, but he didn't object like he had in the hut. Tristan didn't look as intimidating as he might normally; dried mud still covered his clothes and arms. His armor—which he left in the hut—might have been a nice effect to get the boy to talk. But he didn't need it.

"Two moons ago," Morlo started, his voice quivering slightly. Tristan's old sword was still in his hands, but both men knew there was no threat. "They came then—strange men. It was at night, and they took . . ."

Tristan had a feeling he knew exactly what 'they' took.

"Marauders," Tristan filled in. Surprise washed over Morlo's face, but he nodded.

"They took three women," he said. "One escaped. The other two, we found days later."

He didn't need to say anymore. Respecting his sorrow, Tristan kept quiet. _Jaelynn._ She could have ended up like the other women. Had their enemies not known how quickly the knights would come after Jaelynn and Vanora, Tristan might have found them dead.

That would have killed him. His dream came back to him, but with all the Romans and marauders going after Jaelynn. He could imagine fighting all of them, just to get to Jaelynn in time.

He frowned.

Morlo cleared his throat, and poked the sword against Tristan's chest.

"In the pit," he said. Tristan glanced over his shoulder at it.

"Why didn't you send word to Arthur?" Tristan asked. The only information they'd had from the villages was the marauders' lurking. Had they known any action had occurred, Tristan and the knights would have hunted them down from the start.

Morloa didn't answer. His shoulders sagged, slightly defeated. But then he straightened up, and prodded him back to the pit.

"Why keep me there?" he asked.

Morlo's eyes narrowed at him. "The others do not know who you are, and you are dangerous still." He shoved Tristan in the chest, and Tristan stumbled back. His feet met the edge of the pit, but the slick mud gave him no chance to stay above ground. He fell back, landing in the large puddle within the pit. The muddy water covered him, and though the fall stunned him, Tristan quickly got back up.

Morlo laughed, reverting coldly back to a tormentor. He watched the mud drip from the scout's body. Tristan thought again about killing the lad when the opportunity came up. But for now, he tried a different tactic.

"What will you do when someone comes and tells everyone I really am a knight?" Tristan asked. Morlo's face darkened again. He puffed his chest out, and squared his jaw. It made him look like he was trying too hard to intimidate.

"I don't think you'll live that long," he said. Even with Morlo's boyish impertinence, Tristan listened carefully. "I'll convince the others to kill you by nightfall. My father will be avenged."

Morlo grasped the grate and heaved it over the pit. It slopped heavily in the mud, and sent drops of muddy water raining over Tristan. The scout shook his head, even though it was useless. His landing in the muddy puddle had already covered him from head to toe.

Feeling angry and more than a little miserable, Tristan hoped the rain would either come faster to wash him, or stop altogether. He started to shiver again.

-0-0-

Despite the gloomy weather, Jaelynn felt invigorated. She hadn't traveled much—well, not by choice anyway. This was her first journey with a purpose. She was surprised Hilden sent her. She didn't feel completely comfortable teaching another about healing, but Hilden had confidence in her, and that helped.

Galahad seemed bored. He rode with a blank face, not caring as the rain dripped off his cloak. She wondered why he came along. Protection, most likely. Bors and Vanora probably asked for Arthur to keep an extra eye on her.

She was glad though. At least she had someone she knew on this trip.

Somehow, her thoughts turned to Tristan. Part of her kept thinking the caravan would stumble upon him. She doubted it, but couldn't she hope? She just wanted to see him, those random braids he always had in his hair, the tattoos on his cheeks, and that blank look that she could read every now and then.

Unknowingly, she sighed.

"What?" Galahad asked. Jaelynn jumped a bit.

"The weather," she lied quickly. He shot her a look.

"Liar," he said. "What were you really thinking about?"

Jaelynn looked away. "I'm just tired of traveling." He didn't look convinced, but Galahad wouldn't push her.

"We've barely started, and you're tired already?" He shook his head. "I don't know how you'll survive the rest."

"Are we really going that far? How long will it take us?" she asked. Sure, she'd made up her discomfort, but Galahad had her worrying now.

The young knight shrugged. "Probably tomorrow afternoon," he said. "Maybe tomorrow morning, if we keep a good pace."

"Well, you'll have to keep me entertained then," Jaelynn said, trying to find some good in the trip. Galahad chuckled.

"And how do you suggest I do that?" he asked. Jaelynn smiled as she thought. She had one idea, but was it too bold to ask? Galahad must have seen a turn in her thoughts.

"What?" he asked.

Jaelynn opened her mouth, but couldn't bring herself to ask. A nod from Galahad encouraged her.

"I have heard little about your battles," she said. Galahad raised an eyebrow. "I don't mean to pry. I know serving Rome wasn't grand, but I'd like to hear about the knights, and your lives . . ." She trailed off when she felt a blush coming over her.

Galahad blinked as he tried to understand. "You want war stories?"

Sheepishly, Jaelynn nodded.

"Just remember you asked for it," Galahad said.

-0-0-

Shivering was getting old. Tiring, too.

Tristan tried to preserve what little warmth he felt in this muddy, earthen pit. Without the extra protection and layer from his armor, the scout felt the cold more severely. Night was upon him again. It wasn't raining this time. Tristan feared that meant he might have to stay the whole night out here.

The old woman, Morlo's grandmother, had come by earlier and dropped a small loaf of bread through the grate. Tristan caught it and ate it gratefully.

He'd heard shouting an hour ago. Mustering a little energy, he had pulled himself up, hanging from the grate and peeking through it. The men from before, including the village elder, spoke animatedly. They kept their voices hushed, with their glances continually flickering towards him.

He wasn't oblivious to the mistrust in many of their eyes. But the village elder appeared differently. He was cautious still, but his eyes betrayed a sense of sadness. He said something to the others, and the men dispersed.

For once in his life, Tristan didn't want to be alone. He didn't enjoy the dark. He'd had his share of loneliness in both dark spaces and bad conditions. Now, he was waiting for something to happen. Even when he was being tortured by the marauders, he had something to do during the quiet times—heal.

Of course, he might fall ill from the wet and cold, but that hardly counted in his mind. Tristan cleared the scratchiness in his throat and leaned his head back against the dirt wall.

When the moon was at its highest in the sky, Morlo came. Tristan tensed. Why was the boy alone? The lad's threatening words echoed in Tristan's head. He wasn't worried about the danger to his life though—he worried about what he may have to do if Morlo tried anything.

Morlo lifted the grate and motioned for Tristan to come out. The scout obeyed, but his eyes never left Morlo.

The village was completely silent. The animals in the stables made a little noise as they stirred, but other than that, no one noticed the two men. Tristan's sword poked him in the back, with Morlo prodding him forward.

They went into the woods. Tristan looked ahead for a something to use to defend himself. Fallen trees limbs were the best he could find.

_Don't._ He wasn't sure if Morlo was really going to do anything. Besides, hadn't he decided that it was all right, this vengeance on behalf of someone Tristan had killed? If he had to die, it was okay by Morlo's hand, right?

_No._

Tristan felt he did have something to live for. He had a life, albeit a sorry one, at the Wall. He had people he could trust: Arthur, Gawain, Bors . . .

He had the respect and care of Jaelynn.

Tristan blinked.

He had to do something about Morlo, preferably without killing him. He'd promised Jaelynn he would be careful.

"Stop here," Morlo said. He took a step back from Tristan and held the sword steady. Tristan stood calmly.

"You changed your mind?" Tristan asked. Morlo's eyes narrowed. His dark hair stood out against his paler skin. With the moonlight, Morlo looked half-dead. Only his eyes were very alive, dark but burning as they studied Tristan.

"You think I'll spare you for what you've done?" the lad asked. Tristan shrugged.

"I've done many terrible things," he said. "Sooner or later, you have to accept it and move on."

Morlo scoffed and started to pace around Tristan. "Have you no shame then? No remorse?"

"Plenty," he answered quickly. "But shame doesn't make a difference. Actions do." Tristan frowned. Did those words really leave his mouth? More importantly, did he actually believe that?

"Tell me then," Morlo said, a sneer twisting on his face. "What makes your actions now atone for the bad? For killing my father?"

Tristan eyed him. There was nothing he could really say to appease Morlo. He shrugged.

"I've changed." It was true, though Tristan didn't really see how much. On the outside, he was the same, silent scout. He was a killer. But he didn't enjoy it now; he just happened to be good at it.

Morlo smirked. He lowered the sword, leaning on it as the tip pressed into the ground. Tristan looked pointedly at Morlo for the treatment of his blade. The look went unnoticed.

"I'm not going to kill you," Morlo said. Tristan raised an eyebrow. "Do you know why I brought you here?"

Tristan neither said a word nor moved a muscle. Morlo reached for something tucked in at his waist. It was a length of rope. He moved cautiously to Tristan. The scout eyed the rope, not liking it despite Morlo's resolve not to kill him.

Morlo stood to his side, glaring at the scout. Suddenly he raised his arm and brought it down on Tristan. The scout moved quickly, but the hilt of the sword glanced off Tristan's head. Tristan grasped where he was hit, even as his knees gave out. Darkness beyond the night clouded over his vision.

Morlo shoved him to the ground, and Tristan fell on his side, still clutching his head. _Get up!_ He started to move, his eyes seeing unclearly. Then Morlo kicked him solidly in the chest.

"I cannot kill you," Morlo said, circling his body. "But I can leave you for dead." He kicked Tristan again, this time in that sensitive spot where his back and hip met. Tristan's body arched unnaturally in an attempt to alleviate the pain. He vaguely could tell Morlo was tying his feet together with the rope.

"There is a pack of wolves that hunt nearby," Tristan heard Morlo say. The lad was tying his hands together. "It won't take them long to find you."

Tristan tried to move but the blackness kept covering more and more of his mind. Given the pain in his back, his body lulled him further away from Morlo, while Morlo dragged Tristan by the length of rope attached to the scout's hands.

-0-0-

Galahad's streak of stories was continuous, and though she'd slept through the night, the knight was ready to pick back up where he'd left off this morning. Jaelynn was already caught up in one tale.

"There he was, just waiting to be stuck by a sword," Galahad said, "completely unaware of the danger behind him. Gawain swears to this day that he knew all along the man was there, and he was just waiting to turn and surprise him."

Jaelynn inched closer to the carriage window, nearer to Galahad. "So what happened?"

"Lancelot yells, 'Behind you, you dolt!'" He started to laugh just at the thought. "Right in the middle of the battle. Gawain turns around, and Tristan beat him to it. He shot him from across the field. After that, we teased Gawain that he only knew what happened five feet in front of him, while the rest of us could see the whole battlefield."

Jaelynn grinned. She'd have to remember that story the next time Gawain tried to tell her she wasn't paying attention to her surroundings.

"What was Lancelot like?" She'd never heard much about him. Galahad's laughter subsided rather quickly. Jaelynn didn't miss the somber look that overcame him. Instantly, she regretted bringing the fallen knight up.

She knew he had died—half of the names Galahad mentioned were knights that had died. But she thought it would have been all right by now. _When did he die?_

"Lancelot was a passionate warrior," Galahad said. A small, respectful smile tugged at his lips. "That's the best way to describe him. He was passionate in what he believed. In women. In hating Rome. In fighting."

He glanced at Jaelynn. "If he were here today, he would try to woo you, assuming he hadn't already."

Jaelynn grinned, wondering what a character the man must have been. "I would have liked to meet him." Galahad nodded and glanced off at the forest ahead of them. His features softened but his jaw was clenched. He seemed to fight between the good memories he was telling Jaelynn about, and the bad ones.

"He died in the battle with the Saxons," Galahad said. "The day after our freedom was granted by Rome." He shook his head, making his curly hair bounce a bit. "That was a bittersweet day." Jaelynn waited for him to go on, sensing this was more than just a story to tell.

"Just a day or two before, we'd lost Dagonet, a giant of a man with a warm heart and a quiet way," Galahad said. "And in the battle, we lost Lancelot. And Tristan, we thought."

Jaelynn sat a little straighter.

"I still don't know how Tristan got to Rome. You probably know more than I," Galahad said. "He and I don't speak much."

Jaelynn grimaced, having observed some of the awkward moments between the two knights. She always wondered what drove them apart. Tristan wasn't really warm with anyone, but Galahad was definitely cold with Tristan.

"Why not?" she asked. Galahad smiled, but it was one of those guilt-laced smiles, sad and remorseful.

"Bad blood," he said cryptically, "over spilt blood." He shook his head. "It's not so bad now. He just likes to keep to himself."

Jaelynn almost rolled her eyes. _That certainly is true. _ Tristan kept himself away from everyone, not just Galahad.

She didn't ask any more of Galahad, and the young knight seemed to have lost his jovial mood and fun memories. Sitting back in the carriage, Jaelynn tried to imagine what life was like for the knights when they served Rome.

She didn't envy them. For all the excitement and unique experiences they'd had, she knew they were essentially slaves to a cause they did not believe in. From what she knew, the Romans had taken them from Sarmatia when they were just boys. She tried to picture them younger, younger than she was now, coming to a strange land and fighting.

No wonder they all had their own issues. With Tristan's own nightmares in Rome and with the marauders, no wonder he had even more problems than the rest.

His problem, Jaelynn decided, was that he insisted in being alone to cope. While others went to talk to a friend or loved one, Tristan did not. Maybe he didn't see anyone like that. Jaelynn scowled but moved ahead in her thinking. Would the scout ever feel connected enough to someone to confide his troubles?

Even if it weren't her, Jaelynn wished he had someone.

"We're here," Galahad said suddenly, breaking her thoughts. She leaned out the carriage window and glanced ahead. Sure enough, smoke from early morning fires signaled a settlement ahead.

The villagers met them eagerly. But Jaelynn saw something in their eyes.

They greeted her and the rest of the party. But the villagers kept looking to one another. An old man came up to Galahad, who stood by Jaelynn a bit distrustfully. He could tell something was amiss too.

"I must ask," he started, his voice unsure to Jaelynn's ears, "is there a knight at Hadrian's Wall with markings on his face?"

Her heart beat faster.

"On his cheeks, yes," Galahad answered. The old man's shoulders sagged, and his face instantly showed distress.

"What?" Jaelynn asked.

"Forgive us, sir," the old man pleaded, addressing Galahad. "We did not know." The man's legs started to fail him. Galahad grabbed him by the shoulders.

"What is it?" he asked. "Where is the knight?" The old man took a deep breath and looked Galahad in the eyes. His own eyes were filled with tears.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said. "The knight is dead."

Jaelynn's heart skipped a beat. Her lungs suddenly froze. She couldn't breathe.

_No._

_It couldn't be._

_Not Tristan._

She reached out, trying to hold onto something as she felt her knees shake. She felt someone catch her, and an unfamiliar pair of arms encircled her. A young man with dark hair held her. She just stared blankly, but she saw his dark eyes.

_How cold they seem_.

Jaelynn fought the urge to scream as another thought hit her.

_Tristan is dead._


	19. Doomed

a/n: I hate to be shameless, but I have to admit, I love how the ending of last chapter brought out a few lurkers. :o) Thanks for coming out of the woodwork and sharing your comments with me! I struggled with this chapter quite a bit, hence the delay in posting. But thank you for your patience!

**Doomed**

It was the growling that woke him. Normally when Tristan woke up to growling, it was because Bors was nearby and hungry. This time, however, was a bit different. When he opened his eyes, he saw several pairs of glowing eyes.

His head hurt. Were all those eyes really there? He blinked a few times, but the eyes stayed. And that growling—it was damn annoying.

_Wolves, you idiot._

He decided to take stock of his situation a little more seriously. Five wolves, that he could see, paced back and forth in front of him. He heard growls behind him too, and put the number of animals up to seven.

Tristan was standing, somehow. His feet were bound, firmly planted on the ground. His arms were sore, and when he glanced up, he saw why. His arms were raised above his head, bound at the wrists, and with the length of rope tossed above and secured on a high tree branch. The position pulled at his shoulders. He stood a little more straight and tall, easing the pressure off his shoulders.

The wolves snarled at his slight movement. One of them moved behind him, out of his sight. Tristan tried to turn and see. The wolf saw this and lunged.

Tristan hopped on his bound feet, moving just a breadth away from the wolf's jaws. The other wolves bristled and growled louder, while the first rethought things. The wolves were testing him right now. Tristan had seen it enough to know they would try a few tactics, until they felt they understood him. Then they all would attack at once.

Another wolf inched closer to him, his head low but his eyes staring at the prospect of a meal. Tristan flexed his hands. He held onto the rope to relieve his wrists and jumped up, lashing out as the wolf lunged. His feet connected with the wolf's nose.

It yelped and retreated for the next wolf to try.

Tristan glanced up again. The branch above him was high—too high to jump to.

The wolves suddenly quieted. Tristan eyed them. They all stared back, their mouths closed and their eyes alight. And then one of them barked, and they lunged at him.

Tristan jumped as much as he could and pulled on the rope. The movement of his hands was slight, but he could at least grasp the rope. He kicked out with his feet together.

His flesh ripped by his knee when one wolf snagged him. Tristan didn't have time to think of it. He kicked out again, and leapt as high as he could. His palms held tight to the rope and then he swung his legs out and flipped his body.

Immediately he felt the strain on his shoulders—on all his muscles, actually. But with his legs in the air and his body inverted, he was a good six feet off the ground. Unfortunately, the wolves were good jumpers. One leapt at him, its jaws snapping within inches of Tristan's face.

Tristan twisted his leg around the rope, and bent his knee so that he soon was right-side up again. He wasn't the safest distance from the wolves, but he had enough room now to climb a little more carefully. Keeping the rope wrapped around his leg, Tristan inched his way up the rope.

The wolves still snarled below him. It was the sound of disappointment, anger at a prey that escaped. Tristan hauled himself over the branch. He let himself catch his breath as he eyed the wolves below.

He smirked at them.

The wolves started looking for other meals while Tristan used his teeth to gnaw at the knots in the rope.

-0-0-

They didn't believe he was a knight. They had good reason to be distrusting. Having been held captive by the marauders herself, Jaelynn couldn't completely fault them for being cautious.

The village elder was near tears as he elaborated. Tristan escaped sometime during the night. The old man's own grandson was the one to discover this. The grandson stood dutifully by the old man's side now, almost acting as a support. His eyes were lowered respectfully, and also occasionally they glanced to Jaelynn.

She kept glancing to him for confirmation as the village elder relayed what happened.

"Morlo went after him," the elder said. "He found him in the woods. A pack of wolves came upon the knight."

Jaelynn's heart squeezed painfully in her chest. She tried to swallow, but her throat just rubbed dryly.

"Where is he?" she whispered. Beside her, Galahad was quiet.

The village elder drew a shaky breath. Morlo laid a hand on his grandfather's shoulder.

"His body was not in a condition for me to bring back," the grandson said.

Her stomach clenched and twisted within her. Galahad started pacing. She briefly wondered what he was thinking, and if he felt the awful pain she did, even with the coldness between him and Tristan. She felt ill.

"We are sorry," the village elder said, his voice still frail and on the edge of sorrow-laced hysteria. "We are loyal to the king, and never would . . ."

Whispers and gasps rose up among the people. Jaelynn looked over her shoulder, trying to see what made the village elder trail off.

At the edge of the village, walking confidently despite a slight limp, was Tristan.

-0-0-

He debated the whole walk back about whether or not he'd kill anyone over this. Tristan was close enough to anger that he seriously considered it. His physical state didn't help him. He was cold, covered in dried mud still, bleeding from his knee, sore in his shoulders and head, and probably fighting a cold as well.

_Morlo._ He would settle on killing him. _Unless his grandfather wants to do it for me._ No. The grandfather probably wouldn't know what happened, and Tristan wouldn't explain it; there was no point. He just needed his sword back, his old sword that Morlo kept using as an extra insult, and then he'd take care of the entire problem.

Of course, all his brooding and planning changed when he walked into the village. The first thing he saw was the caravan. _Great. They can vouch for me before I slice the boy's head off._

Then he saw Jaelynn. Her face was pale, and he could see distress in her eyes. Galahad was next to her, his jaw dropped.

"Tristan!" he called out. He and Jaelynn ran towards him. Tristan found his eyes following Jaelynn as she came to him. Her eyes were moist, but the distress disappeared from her face.

"You're alive!" she said with a gasp, and then she hugged him tightly. Tristan saw Galahad raise an eyebrow at that. He didn't let it bother him, though he was unsure of what to do as Jaelynn hugged him. He was also well aware of Morlo watching them.

"Eh," he said, and Jaelynn released him. "I'm fine."

She looked over him, immediately spotting his knee. Her eyes moved back up his body. Tristan held still, allowing it. Her eyes found his next little wound, a scabbed-over cut on his throat from two nights ago, and the slight cut on his arm. Both were healing by themselves.

"Tristan, what happened?" Galahad asked.

The villagers came near, especially the elder. A man helped him forward. Tristan scanned the crowd and found Morlo staying away. The lad stared at him, his eyes alert and dark with disappointment.

Tristan smirked.

"You live!" the village elder exclaimed. "Please forgive us. We didn't—"

The man went on, but Tristan kept his eyes on Morlo. The lad started to shift where he stood. The grandfather was rambling now, and Tristan tuned in enough to hasten the situation.

"—anything, anything, we can do—"

Tristan cut him off.

"Bath," he said shortly. He looked pointedly at the old man, hardly bothering to hide his cold expression. "Return my things to me immediately."

Galahad raised an eyebrow again, but Tristan didn't care if he seemed out of line.

"Of course," someone said, and two women ran off to ready a bath.

"Tristan," Jaelynn said, grasping him by the elbow. "I should look after your leg."

He turned to her, and saw the forced composure she had now. Had she really thought he was dead? He'd come close enough on several occasions, so maybe it wasn't too hard to believe. But now she stood confidently, with her air of authority. He smiled slightly, and nodded.

"After," he said, indicating his bath. Suddenly Galahad started to laugh. The scout and the healer's assistant frowned at him.

"I don't think I've ever heard you ask for a bath," Galahad said. Tristan just grunted and walked away.

-0-0-

Jaelynn leaned back against the wall of the hut. The fire burning in the hearth warmed her.

The village elder offered Tristan to stay in his house. Perhaps it was an honor, or just a way to make up for whatever happened to Tristan. Jaelynn waited for him to finish dressing.

"You said he was dead," Galahad said, glaring at the village elder and the grandson. The elder frowned. Clearly, he hadn't thought about that. He looked to the one they called Morlo.

Morlo offered a feeble shrug. He stammered a bit as he spoke.

"Maybe it was an unfortunate traveler," he said.

_But if Tristan escaped, why would he come back?_ Jaelynn didn't buy it.

"Was the unfortunate traveler's body in no condition to be brought back too?" she asked. Morlo's eyes bore into hers, defiant. Suddenly, his gaze softened on her.

Jaelynn quickly looked away.

"Vicious wolves," came a voice she knew so well. She turned and saw Tristan standing at the doorway. His hair was wet and completely unbraided. She'd never seen him that way. The spare change of clothes he had fit him nicely, a definite improvement from the muddied ones he had on earlier.

She saw the scout look pointedly at Morlo. Morlo's gaze cooled significantly, and he left the hut.

"Sit down, Tristan," she said, going into healer mode. He obeyed, and she started to tug on his pant leg. The village elder ambled across the small room.

"The girl can stay with Opthalus," he said. Jaelynn hated how she seemed to not have a name. "You and the other knight may stay here."

She saw him tense. Tristan shook his head, making his hair sway back and forth in front of his face.

"No," he said. "We'll stay together." The village elder looked taken aback.

"But there is not enough room here—"

"Then we'll stay elsewhere," Tristan said quickly. The look in his eyes left no room for argument. The old man slowly nodded.

"As you wish." He ambled out of his home, leaving the knights and Jaelynn.

She raised an eyebrow at the scout. "Care to explain?"

Galahad stepped forward, as if to hear better what Tristan would say. But the scout shook his head.

"Yesterday I was their prisoner," he said, his manner dull and indifferent.

"How did they catch you?" Galahad asked. "You're an easy target now?" Jaelynn bowed her head to keep her smile hidden.

"Next time I'll just kill them then," Tristan said with a smirk. She shook her head.

Jaelynn grasped his calf, turning it slightly. Tristan winced but stayed still. She frowned thoughtfully as she examined the wound. She touched around the ragged edges of it.

It looked like a wolf clawed him. That was fortunate; bites were worse, from what she read. There were more risks. Jaelynn picked up a small bowl with an herb paste in it. It was bluish-green, and Tristan's lip curled up at the smell. She swirled her fingers in the paste, mixing it freshly, and then gathered a glob on her fingertips. When the paste made contact with his skin, Tristan's leg jerked. Quickly, he stilled it, but Jaelynn noticed. She glanced up at him, peering up to see beyond his bangs.

"Sorry," he muttered. She applied more of the paste, and this time, Tristan held still. She grabbed a bandage and wrapped it around the knee. Her fingertips gently moved over his skin. She saw the muscles in his leg tense. Glancing up at him, she saw him bite his lip, hard.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, frowning. She was being as gentle as possible. Tristan moved his jaw, unclenching his teeth over his lip. He shook his head.

"Are you sure?" she asked. She knew the paste stung at first, but it should have been all right by now.

He was about to nod automatically when her fingers grazed the back of his knee. He jolted.

It hit Jaelynn—was her touch causing him to act so strangely? A blush was starting to work its way on her, so Jaelynn looked back at the knee and finished bandaging it. _What if that was it? _Was it a good thing that he reacted to her that way, or was it more evidence of the awkward, platonic regard he held for her?

When she finished the bandage, she sat back. Tristan was braiding parts of his hair.

"I've never seen your hair without the braids," Jaelynn said. She stood and reached for one section that was a little messy. Carefully, she undid one part and then rebraided it. Her eyes met Tristan's. The golden brown color of his narrow eyes made her heart beat faster. He was staring right back into her eyes, and she felt a tingle shiver up her back.

"I should go see their healer," Jaelynn said suddenly, moving away. Tristan quickly nodded.

She turned and headed for the door. Galahad had been standing and just watching them—she'd forgotten he was even there. He had a goofy expression on his face. Jaelynn shut her eyes briefly.

_Please don't say anything_, she thought, willing it on Galahad. The open air outside the hut welcomed her from her escape.

-0-0-

Galahad tore a piece of meat off the chicken leg. It was a little dry, but he savored the smoky flavor. The wine was hardly anything strong, more like watered down grape juice, but he drank it anyway.

The nightly feast, if you could call it that, was actually not necessary or expected under normal circumstances. The caravan was here to deliver goods. Sure, he was here too, but that didn't warrant any special treatment. The whole reason this feast was occurring was because of Tristan.

Galahad grinned into his cup. The villagers couldn't have thrown a feast for a less appreciative person. But this was their way of begging forgiveness or showing their hospitality—a bit after the fact, since they kept him prisoner for a few days, but oh well.

He would have given his right leg to see that—Tristan as a prisoner, held by simple villagers? He chuckled.

The scout hardly ate anything. Galahad watched him. Tristan picked at his food with no interest. His eyes were on Jaelynn. Galahad followed his line of sight.

Correction: Tristan's eyes were on Jaelynn and Morlo, the village elder's grandson. Galahad raised an eyebrow at his observation. _Interesting._

Morlo was talking to Jaelynn quite a bit, though she was simply trying to eat. She smiled awkwardly at something the young lad said, and shifted slightly away from him. Morlo smiled as well, and said something else that made them both laugh.

Galahad looked back to Tristan. The scout was fingering the knife he kept in the chest of his armor. Galahad chuckled, and went to sit by him.

"If you kill him, don't expect me to keep you from the pit they put you in," he said. Tristan shot him a quick glare. Inside, Galahad was delighted. It wasn't often he could tease the scout about anything. _Is he that protective of Jaelynn?_

_Or more?_

He grinned.

"She can take care of herself, Tristan," he said. Tristan glanced sideways at him, his eyes showing disbelief at his words.

"It's not her I'm worried about."

Galahad glanced at Morlo. The lad was still chattering at Jaelynn, and laid a hand on her shoulder. If Tristan had no restraint at all, the lad would be dead. Galahad decided to distract him, if for no other reason than to avoid bloodshed.

"Speaking of worry," he started, "you left the Wall pretty rashly. Arthur was concerned."

Tristan sighed quietly, and picked up a cup of wine. "He always worries."

"With good reason," Galahad said. He found it amusing how Arthur mothered Tristan, and how Tristan hated it. Sure, maybe the scout found it insulting. But could you really fault Arthur for his concern?

Tristan rolled his eyes. It made Galahad grin, but he tried to hide it.

"I have my share of trouble like everyone else," he said. Galahad snorted. That was hardly the case. He shook his head.

"It's not just your trouble that worries Arthur," Galahad said. Tristan turned inquisitively to face him. "Has he never told you?"

The look from Tristan told him no.

"Really? Not even in those long talks he has with you?" Galahad goaded. Tristan glared at him. He grabbed his small knife and stabbed a piece of meat off Galahad's plate. The younger knight grinned.

"You remember the battle with the Saxons when we got our papers?" he asked. Tristan cocked his head to the side, shooting him a bored look. _Right. Of course he remembers._ "During it, Gawain was hit by a cross bolt. He was trying to pull it out, and wasn't watching his back. A Saxon came right up behind him, but before he could kill Gawain, Arthur got to him."

He frowned as he thought about it. He hadn't actually seen that—obviously, he was busy fighting too. But Arthur had told him once.

"I don't even think Gawain knows," he added. Not that it was a huge deal. Over the years, all the knights had helped each other out in battle. It was what made them close. He shrugged, moving on with his story. "Arthur said he blamed himself for what Germanius did. If he had been looking out for you too, maybe he could have stopped him."

Tristan fingered the meat without eating it. Galahad wondered what he was thinking, a more difficult game that he indulged in every now and then. Did he wish Arthur had stopped Germanius in time too? Did he realize Arthur's guilt was unfounded? Or was he still thinking about Morlo and Jaelynn?

"You get killed if you split your focus," Tristan said. _Ah_, Galahad thought. _He doesn't fault Arthur._ Typical Tristan, now that he thought about it. Tristan was fiercely independent, and to fault Arthur for something that might have well cost the king his life was a bit uncharacteristic for the scout. It made Galahad respect Tristan a bit more than he already did.

"So," Galahad said, continuing. "Are you coming back to the Wall with us?"

Tristan stilled. His eyes were cast downward, but he didn't move a muscle while he thought.

Galahad wondered if he'd have to repeat the question, and then Tristan nodded. No verbal agreement, just a nod.

"Good," Galahad said. He noticed Tristan looked like he was caught offguard by that, but maybe it was the optimism in his voice. _That's fine._ Maybe it was time to just forget all the awkwardness between him and the scout, and move forward. He doubted he'd ever truly address what bothered him, or what bothered Tristan. And that was fine. Over the past few years, they'd made little steps of progress.

Tristan's eyes drifted over to Jaelynn. Morlo still engaged her actively in conversation, and he found plenty of opportunities to touch her, just on the arm or the shoulder, but it was contact nonetheless.

Tristan stood. Galahad tensed, wondering if he'd have to stop the knight from doing something rash. But the scout walked away, over to the hut where his things were. Moments later, he returned, a cloth in one hand and his sword in the other. Galahad eyed the sword.

"That's your old one," he commented as Tristan sat down again. The scout nodded.

"Found it in the woods." He bunched the cloth in his hand and gently rubbed it against the dirty blade. _Leave it to the scout to clean his weapons at dinner. _Galahad shook his head.

Tristan kept cleaning the blade, but his eyes flickered more than once at Jaelynn and Morlo. Slowly, Galahad grinned. He understood what the scout was doing. The menacing looks he kept shooting across the table were aimed at Morlo.

_It's a warning,_ Galahad thought. Tristan flipped the blade over, making the blade reflect the firelight. Morlo noticed, but quickly looked away.

Galahad laughed out loud.

-0-0-

She had much to do before they left for home. Opthalus, the village healer, was more than a bit inept, but Jaelynn persisted in teaching him about the herbs and how to prepare them. She had to finish today, because they would leave in the morning.

Jaelynn pointed to a small plant by the base of a tree.

"See?" she said. "That is what it looks like before you prepare it." She kneeled down and plucked the plant up. "Now, you will prepare this one."

Opthalus, though easily two or three times her age, looked unsure. But he took the herb, and the two healers went back to work.

It was after noon when she decided she needed a break for her sanity. She walked through the small village, rubbing the back of her neck.

"Are you done?" came a mumbled accent behind her. She smiled, then turned to face Tristan. He was sitting on a fence, cleaning his armor. She noticed it was pretty muddy, but all the more reason for him to clean it.

"Sadly, no," she said, shaking her head. "It's amazing that someone so much older and who looks so capable can be so helpless." Tristan smiled.

"You'll be ready for tomorrow?" he asked. _Tomorrow?_ _Oh, to leave._

"Yes. This has been an . . . exciting trip, but I think I'm ready to go home." She grinned for good measure.

_All right. That's enough. Walk away._

She hated the thoughts in her head sometimes. _Don't hang on to him. Walk away now._

Begrudgingly, she obeyed, and turned to walk away from him. She almost gasped when she heard him jump down from the fence and walk by her. Was he coming to her?

She calmed herself and continued through the village. Tristan walked beside her, his armor in hand.

"How's your training?" he asked. Jaelynn blinked.

"With herbs or weapons?" Her question made Tristan smile behind the long bangs. She wondered why he hid behind them so much. _Probably so no one can tell where he's looking or what he's thinking._

"Weapons," he answered. Jaelynn shrugged.

"I'm improving," she answered less directly. It was the truth, but part of her wondered if she'd ever be good enough to really defend herself when the moment demanded it. Practice and training were very different from the real thing. Even she knew that.

He grunted some form of agreement.

"What do you like?" he asked. Again, she wasn't sure what he meant, and had to guess back.

"Sword," she said. Tristan raised an eyebrow. "But it's either that or the dagger. I haven't started archery yet."

He nodded. And then he didn't say anymore. Their footsteps on the damp ground were all she heard, although the sounds of life within the village comforted her.

_Say something!_

"I'm surprised you didn't object," she said. When Tristan frowned, confused, she added: "To me being trained."

He nodded and then shrugged. One of his braids fell in front of his face, and he snapped his head to the side to rid it from his view.

"It's your decision," he said. "I'm not your father."

"No, you're not," she said, and instantly realized how rushed that came out. The blush was coming back. Tristan glanced at her. Jaelynn just ordered herself to be calm and show nothing.

The scout cleared his throat. She glanced at him and saw that he was looking across the village. Morlo stood there, watching Tristan and Jaelynn. His jaw was set—it looked like he was clenching it—and then he walked towards them.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Tristan ball his fists.

"What?" she asked. Tristan glared at Morlo without explaining. Morlo reached them, and she noticed his dark hair. It was nicely combed, and fell softly around his head. It was shorter than Tristan's hair.

Morlo's demeanor was icy when he looked at Tristan, but as soon as his eyes came to Jaelynn, he appeared kind but intense.

"Lady Jaelynn," he greeted, nodding to her. "May I speak with you?" _Lady!_

"She's busy," Tristan answered for her. Jaelynn frowned. His voice was low and menacing; why would he answer for her like this?

"Tristan," she said, drawing his attention. Morlo bristled.

"I'm asking her, not you, murderer," he said. Jaelynn didn't like that one bit.

"Don't," she warned, stepping in front of Tristan protectively. It felt a bit odd to her, but yet she wouldn't ignore the mean words Morlo spat out. Morlo glared at the scout. He stepped back.

"Please," he said, "I just wish to speak with you."

Jaelynn sighed.

"What?"

"May we walk?" Morlo gestured where no one was.

Jaelynn looked from him to Tristan. She could tell how the scout felt about this. But she also wanted to see what Morlo wanted. He'd seemed friendly at dinner the night before, but there was some sadness within him. She felt obligated to at least hear him out.

She nodded.

As Morlo led her away from Tristan, she kept looking over her shoulder. Tristan appeared . . . blank. His stance was straight and tall, his chin tilted up slightly. He looked calm, confident. But the blank look . . . was that how he masked what he really felt?

_And what is he feeling?_

"Jaelynn," Morlo said, drawing her attention away from the scout. He frowned when he saw she'd been watching the knight. "Why do you defend him? He is dangerous."

Jaelynn raised an eyebrow, and an amused grin pulled at the corners of her mouth.

"Dangerous?" She saw the dead-serious look Morlo had on his face, and dropped her grin. "He is a knight. He has to be."

Morlo started to pace in short strides in front of her.

"He is not a good man," he said. "I know this."

A dark feeling crept into Jaelynn. "You've known him for a few days, and you think you can judge him?"

"He is a murderer."

Instantly, Jaelynn slapped him. She couldn't believe she'd done it, but the reaction was automatic to the young man's words. Morlo stumbled, his face shocked and turning red, but he swallowed and stood still before her.

"You may not like my words," Morlo said, "but I've seen it myself." Jaelynn wanted to run away, but the conviction of his words made her stay. "I saw him. He slaughtered my father. Just killed him, enjoying it."

Jaelynn swallowed. "When was this?"

Morlo bowed his head reverently at the thought. "Ten years ago."

And it suddenly made sense. Jaelynn tried to remain respectful for Morlo, but inside she wanted to laugh. He still blamed Tristan for being a knight? For doing his duty, under the servitude of Rome? That was what he had done, and while she regretted the loss of life, all the knights had to fight or be killed. Jaelynn glanced at Tristan. He was still watching from where she'd spoken with him before.

"I am sorry for your loss," she said evenly. "I'm sure it caused you great pain. But Tristan's actions were for a cause he was forced to serve. If he truly was a murderer, he would have killed all of you when you met him."

Morlo's eyes narrowed.

"He could not have," he said. "We outnumbered him."

Jaelynn couldn't suppress a smile. "You truly do not know him. He could have killed you all. Numbers mean nothing with his skill." To her own ears, her words sounded oddly proud, but she knew what she was talking about. "I've seen him defeat unbeatable odds. Several times."

Morlo clearly didn't like her words, but Jaelynn stood steadfast. The young man's eyes softened though, and he stared down at the ground humbly.

"I just worry for you," he said quietly. "You are too precious a lady to be risked around such a monster." She felt the jab to Tristan in his words, but the sweet compliment he paid her easily caught her attention. She blinked, trying to make sense of Morlo.

And then, he gently came towards her, his left hand cupping her face. He leaned in, and kissed her.

A dizzying void took over her mind until Morlo pulled back. His eyes begged for some acceptance of the affection he'd shown. Even so, Jaelynn glanced at Tristan.

The scout was gone.


	20. Rejecting

A/N: All right. I'm surprised I'm posting this already. I have some doubts/reservations about this chapter, but I need to get it out, because the ideas are eating away at me. So don't hate me, and please send me your comments!

**Rejecting  
**

He just kissed her.

Morlo.

Jaelynn numbly walked away from him, ignoring his calls after her. She couldn't deal with this right now. Not clearly. Her mind was a fog of excitement, horror, and fear.

Excitement—she'd just had a real kiss. Not some Roman taking advantage of her or some dream about Tristan.

Horror—had Tristan seen the kiss? What would he think? Did it matter?

Fear—what was she supposed to do now? Did she like Morlo back?

She found herself darting between huts defensively so no one could follow her. The woods were before her, and she wanted to disappear within them. Her swift feet took her to the trees, tall and towering above her. The wind picked up, making the branches sway and the fallen leaves swirl around her.

It was by a large boulder that she stopped. She sat on the ground, ignoring the dirt and leaves that got on her simple dress. The thoughts kept flooding her mind.

No, she didn't like Morlo. Right? She suspected he'd been more than just lying to everyone about Tristan's supposed escape. He had reason to dislike Tristan, but to take it beyond that was unpardonable. They were in a time of peace, despite all the bloodshed in previous years. She understood that and held no grudge. And she liked to think that if the Saxons made peace with the Britons, she would accept it, even though they killed her father.

_But the ones who killed your father are dead. _She would not hold it against all Saxons. Jaelynn sighed. It didn't really matter; she wasn't in Morlo's position, but she knew what she thought of what he'd done.

The kiss, she hated to admit, was nice. Morlo's lips had been soft. The tone of the kiss was pleading, not demanding. She was surprised when it happened. It had made her feel . . . She wasn't sure what it made her feel.

But it wasn't Tristan. Nor was it from a man she liked that way. _That's all that matters._ Even though Morlo was a closer match for her age, she wouldn't let that sway her. Besides, she was young; there were more options out there for her. She just hadn't really considered any except Tristan.

Was she fooling herself? Was Tristan just a dream that would never be realized? She'd asked herself the question a thousand times. She looked to the sky for an answer.

In response, she got rain. It started to sprinkle down on her. _Great._ Jaelynn stood and wiped the dirt from her dress. With her time cut short, she came to her own resolution.

She would be calm about this incident. She would tell Morlo she felt nothing for him. And she would figure out whatever was between her and Tristan. Her duties as a healer's assistant still prevailed over her own issues, and she would dedicate herself to them, here and at the Wall.

Life goes on, and is what happens between responsibilities.

-0-0-

He knew he was giving everyone a blank look. He felt it throughout his body; he felt weighed down by the stony façade he put on.

He didn't care. It was necessary for Tristan. The scout snagged some food from the village elder's hut and went to the stables. His horse eyed him accusingly, no doubt wondering where the scout had been. Tristan made peace by offering some of his food.

The horse pawed at the ground as Tristan mounted. He patted his own back, feeling his old sword sheathed to it. _Just in case._ He left his newer sword in the hut with the rest of his things. For some reason, he wanted the old blade near him.

With a kick, the horse trotted out of the stables. Rain was falling now, but that didn't stop Tristan. He rode through the village, heading for the path he'd been on days before. Galahad saw him and waved at him.

"Where are you going?" he called out. Tristan shrugged. He really didn't know.

"Just a ride," he said. He noticed the hilt of a dagger sticking out by Galahad's waist. Tristan stopped his horse, leaned over, and yanked the dagger from its holder. "Borrowing it."

Galahad stammered, but Tristan urged his horse on.

The ride was a swirl of colors and wet rain. Tristan paid attention to his surroundings but without really seeing them. He felt a bit numb, and not just from the cold rain. His mind kept replaying what he witnessed. Morlo, leaning in towards Jaelynn, kissing her.

Of course it bothered him. But not because he didn't trust the whelp and not because he wanted to protect Jaelynn from him. The feeling was so unfamiliar.

The boy was young enough to be suitable for Jaelynn. He was friendly and conversed easily with her. Morlo could actually court her. _And me?_ It just wasn't something Tristan could do.

And he wanted to.

Angrily, Tristan yanked up on the reins of his horse, earning a disapproving neigh from the animal. Tristan dismounted, wincing at the sudden pressure on his knee. He growled at it, and then fingered Galahad's dagger. He eyed a suitable tree, flipped the blade in his hands, and hurled it at the tree trunk.

With a thud, it stuck into the trunk. Tristan removed his dagger next, eyed the hilt of Galahad's blade, and chucked it. Another thud, and Tristan's dagger was embedded in the hilt of Galahad's.

He retrieved the blades, but his mind wandered again as he threw the daggers over and over.

_Do you really feel anything for her?_

He had to be the stupidest man alive. Aside from Galahad. Why was he even thinking about her? He'd pushed the possibility away long ago. It just wasn't right. He could be her father.

_So could many of the men who look at her, but they don't care._ His mouth curled in disgust as he thought of the Roman, Tacitus. He certainly had no qualms, but he had tried to force Jaelynn.

That decided it in Tristan's mind. Though deep down he knew anything between him and Jaelynn would not be so horrible, he couldn't help but see himself as no better than Tacitus if he pursued anything with her.

Wind blew quickly, and it drove the rain sideways against Tristan. His grip on the daggers' handles was slippery. With a grunt, he hurled the daggers one last time. It was wild and uncontrolled, but still they found the trunk of the tree. Tristan leaned against another tree trunk, and stared up at the rain.

He wouldn't describe his life as happy or lucky, but it wasn't terrible either. Still, he'd never felt as unhappy as he did now.

It was dark when he returned, and the village was quiet. Tristan tended to his horse in the stables before heading to the hut where he, Galahad and Jaelynn had stayed. Quietly, he entered. Water dripped from him, and he frowned at it.

Galahad lay on a cot, and raised his head to see who had come in. Tristan just nodded to him. He looked to Jaelynn. She slept on her side, her back to the fire in the hearth and to him. Galahad mumbled something, but quickly fell back asleep.

Tristan smirked. How the knight hadn't been killed in his sleep, he didn't know.

He removed his clothes, shedding the wet armor and tunic. He stayed dressed in his pants, uncomfortable but necessary. He went to the fire and sat in front of it. Waves of heat soothed his body, and he soon felt the dry, cracked nature of his skin the longer he stayed there.

He watched Jaelynn.

Did she still care for him? Or had Morlo's attention made her realize how sought-after she could be? Tristan rolled his eyes at his thoughts. In all likelihood, she would still care for him. But she deserved better. Any woman did.

Somehow, he thought back to how she'd tried to defend him when Morlo called him a murderer. Honestly, the name was accurate, but Jaelynn had stood protectively in front of him. It was endearing. But was she offended at the name—murderer? Did she still not know that's what he was? She'd once indicated that she didn't hold his past actions against him. _But it's not all past. _He very well might have killed the villagers after the wolf incident. _Morlo, at least._

No, Jaelynn deserved better. And Tristan had always been like this, especially since the battle with the Saxons as Rome left the island. He was who he was, before he ever met Jaelynn. He continued to be the silent, deadly scout, with no emotion.

He would stick to that. It was all he knew.

But maybe. . . . maybe if he hadn't been taken to Rome, it would have been different. Because at least before then, he was led by an honorable man, even if it was in the servitude of an empire like Rome. The moment he was without Arthur or any good leader, Tristan had fallen—succumb to the pressures to do what he was told, and to not choose what he knew to be right.

Tristan scooted away from the fire, and lay down on the floor. He saw Galahad had two blankets, and snatched one from him. The younger knight didn't even flinch.

Sleep overcame him . . .

_The battle. Tristan crossed the field, his sword firm in his hands and his eyes zeroed in on his next opponent. Perhaps this one would be a challenge._

_The Saxon king was as emotionless as he was. He met each of Tristan's advances, and Tristan felt unsettled. This man was not an easy kill. He truly was a challenge._

_Maybe too much of a challenge. _

_The Saxon king's blade sliced under his right shoulder. Stunned, Tristan felt the blood there. He held up his sword and tried again._

_Another cut, across his forearm. His sword fell from his hands. The Saxon king looked bored, but he kicked the sword back to him. Something warned Tristan that he wouldn't survive this if he continued. But honor made him pick up the sword and finish the fight._

_The Saxon king had a short blade that he thrust into Tristan's arm. The scout found himself on the ground, crawling away for some space. But the king grabbed him by his hair, forcing him up. As a last effort, Tristan pulled the blade out of his arm, and stabbed it in the Saxon's thigh._

_A sharp cut sliced his left arm, and suddenly he felt the stab of a long sword, through his body. Fire spread from the entry wound in his left side, and inside him. He felt the blood leaving his body, filling up his lungs too. Somewhere in his mind, he knew this was different, but it didn't matter. _

_This is how it should have happened._

_He could see Arthur, recognizing his scout on the end of the Saxon's sword. And then, with terribly agonizing pain, the blade was pulled roughly from his body. The Saxon turned before him and slashed the sword across Tristan's body._

_He fell._

_And though things went dark in his mind, he heard the voices around him. Arthur. Crying out that two knights were slain. _Two? Lancelot._ And Tristan was the other._

_He felt constricted, like he was wrapped in something. _For burial._ He wanted to move, to be free of it, but of course his limbs weren't working. Then there was something falling on him. Clumps of it, and then sprinkles._

_Dirt._

_He felt it compact down on him, and knew he'd been buried. The darkness, the tight confines of the grave, the sound of people visiting him above ground._

_Frantically, he kicked out. The thick cloth around him stayed put; worse, it felt like it tightened around him. Tristan jabbed his limbs out, trying to get free from the death shroud._

"Tristan!"

He kept fighting the shroud, kicking out and trying to move his arms. Warm, live hands held him down, and he opened his eyes. Hovering above him with the most worried looks ever were Jaelynn and Galahad.

Immediately, he stilled. His breathing was erratic. He forced his mouth shut and controlled his breathing through his nose. He glanced around him. The blanket he'd taken from Galahad last night was twisted tightly around his hips and legs. Galahad and Jaelynn had their hands on his arms, holding him down. They released him. Slowly, he sat up, quite aware of how stupid he must have looked.

They stood back and let him get up. His knee wobbled a bit until he found his balance. He felt their eyes watching him, concerned. And then he remembered that he had no shirt on, which wasn't a big deal, but it just added to his vulnerability.

He ran a hand through his hair.

"That was embarrassing." He quickly found his shirt, and pulled it over his head.

"What happened?" Galahad asked. Tristan ignored the question and looked around for his sword—either one of them. He grabbed the nearest, his old sword and nodded at Galahad.

"Spar?"

Galahad shot a confused glance to Jaelynn.

-0-0-

The stupid knee was really annoying Tristan. As he met Galahad's attacks, his knee kept throbbing and reminding him that he had an obvious weakness. He scowled and lunged at Galahad.

The metallic clang of their swords sounded loud in the village. It was early yet, but Tristan didn't care. Some of the villagers were awake and going about their daily activities. The caravan was readying to leave. Tristan just needed to spar.

"So," Galahad said in short puffs. "What happened in there?" Tristan dealt a downward blow, forcing Galahad to go to one knee and block it.

"Nothing," he said. He saw Galahad roll his eyes.

"Brick wall," he heard the younger knight mutter. Tristan wasn't in the mood. Normally Galahad's name-calling and muttered remarks would make him smirk. Right now, he just wanted to fight.

He pivoted his body and slashed at Galahad. The younger knight jumped back, surprised at the scout's suddenly ferocity. Tristan backed off and waited for Galahad to regain himself.

"Nightmare?" Galahad asked again. He swung his sword above his head, stretching out his limbs, and then lunged again.

Tristan barely had time or space to nod. He was forced back, and ducked to the side as Galahad's sword came at him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jaelynn standing, watching.

He couldn't think about that now.

Tristan stepped forward and twisted his body, bringing his sword the long way around to go for Galahad's unguarded side. The younger knight quickly turned to the attack, just as Tristan pivoted the opposite direction and came at the newly defenseless side.

"Hey!" Galahad objected, but Tristan twirled his sword with a roll of his wrist. The younger knight glared at the scout, and Tristan smirked.

"Need some help?" came a voice. Both knights glanced to the side, and saw Morlo standing there, a sword in hand. He came closer, and stood by Galahad. Galahad crooked an eyebrow up, and glanced to Jaelynn, then Tristan.

Galahad shook his head.

"No."

Morlo was unfazed by the rejection. "Can I fight the victor then?"

Galahad glanced at Tristan, and shrugged.

"Might as well fight him now then," Galahad said. He shot Tristan an amused grin, and went to wait by Jaelynn. "Save me some trouble," he grumbled.

Morlo prowled over to take Galahad's place. His eyes gleamed darkly at Tristan. Tristan smirked. He wondered if the boy had a death wish.

He also wondered if Morlo hoped to kill him 'accidentally.'

_That won't happen._

Morlo lunged forward, jabbing the sword at Tristan's midsection. Tristan twirled evasively, bringing his sword up and then swiping at the kid's head. Morlo lost his footing when he dodged the blow. Tristan smirked at him.

But the boy came back, using his speed as an advantage. It wasn't his skill with the sword that was fast; he was all right, probably a good little warrior. His speed in just dodging around, though, kept him afloat in the sparring match.

Tristan's grace, on the other hand, and the agility he'd engrained in himself over the years, made him the superior in the fight. And he wasn't even trying really hard, especially since he didn't put his full weight and ability on his knee.

Tristan ducked beneath a lateral blow. He spun and raised his sword, meeting Morlo's mid-air. The clang sent vibrations through his arm. He wondered how it felt through younger, less experienced arms. Morlo crossed blades with Tristan again. The scout calmly parried, taking a step back. Suddenly, Morlo kicked out, and his foot connected with Tristan's wounded knee.

He fell down. Jaelynn gasped behind him. Tristan parried Morlo's follow-up attack while still on his knees.

Morlo, it seemed, had no problem taking an unfair advantage even further. With their swords crossed, grating metal against metal, Morlo kicked Tristan in the chest. He fell back, and Morlo flicked his wrists just right so that Tristan lost his sword in the process.

For a moment, Tristan was stunned. For a moment, Morlo had a menacing, victorious gleam in his eyes. For a moment, Jaelynn and Galahad's jaws dropped.

Morlo launched into a renewed attack, even though anyone with honor would have stopped or accepted a victory. Galahad shouted something, but Tristan couldn't pay it any attention. Morlo's sword fell heavily towards him.

Tristan rolled over the ground. His sword lay too far out of reach, behind Morlo. He wouldn't be able to get to it. Morlo swung at him again, making Tristan roll out of the way again. Jaelynn shrieked behind him.

The sword struck the ground where he'd been, and Tristan made his move. Though it hurt his knee more than he cared to admit, he kicked at Morlo. His feet solidly hit Morlo in the jaw, and the lad reeled back from the force. His hands still held strong to the sword, but Morlo was dazed.

Quickly, Tristan kicked out again, sweeping his feet behind Morlo's. Morlo fell to the ground, his sword landing by him. Tristan got to his feet, and his knee buckled. Grimacing, he pressed on. He grabbed the nearest blade—Morlo's—and stood over the lad. The tip he pressed against Morlo's throat, hardly bothering to be careful. The tip scraped over the lad's throat, a reversal from a few nights ago. Blood trickled down his throat, but Morlo stayed completely still.

"Tristan?" he heard Jaelynn questioning behind him. He ignored her. His eyes bore into Morlo. Morlo was panting but trying to hide it and control it so he didn't increase the damage to his throat.

"Try anything again," Tristan said so softly that no one but Morlo could hear him, "and you die." Morlo glared at him, but he stayed silent. "I killed your father. I can't change that. Stop wasting your life."

He didn't move away. He just waited. The tension was palpable. He could hear Galahad and Jaelynn shifting nervously. The village seemed to be noticing the scene as well. The normal morning bustle was gone.

But slowly, the message sunk in. Morlo lowered his eyes and gave the slightest bob of his head.

Tristan kept his eyes on him and stepped back. He tossed the sword at Morlo's feet, and went to pick up his own. His knee ached, and when he bent over to pick it up he felt a sharp sting. He shook his head to hide his face and the grimace on it.

He glanced back to Morlo, who was oddly subdued but angry. Jaelynn, though, came to Tristan's side, and prodded at his knee.

"I need to redress that," she said. Tristan gave a short nod.

He sheathed his sword on the scabbard over his back and left them.

-0-0-

Typical Tristan. Leaving the scene of some danger and drama. Galahad still wasn't sure how seriously the men fought, but he did know Morlo had well-stepped over the line. As soon as Tristan left, Jaelynn turned to Morlo.

With the meanest look he'd ever seen from her, Jaelynn glared at Morlo. She took a step towards him and raised her hand. Galahad thought at first that she was going to slap him, but then he saw a small dagger in her hand.

Jaelynn held the small blade to Morlo's throat. Galahad went to them, ready to stop her. But then he heard her speak.

"You are the worst scum on this earth," she said heatedly to Morlo. Her tone was low but harsh. It surprised Galahad. "I've encountered men with no honor before. Men who would try to get what they want at any cost. You make them seem worthy of the highest accolade."

She pushed him away, which Galahad thought was forceful and unnecessary—she could have just stepped back. She spat at his feet, and tucked the dagger back into some fold in her dress. Turning to Galahad, she said:

"When do we leave?"

Galahad wondered how Tristan would have reacted, had he just seen this display.

-0-0-

The journey back to the Wall was . . . quiet. Uncomfortable. Even Tristan felt it. He still stewed over Morlo and the imbecile's actions. _I should have killed him._

He knew he wouldn't have, even if Jaelynn and Galahd hadn't been watching.

Tristan turned inward. Thoughts kept coming to his mind, but he blocked them out. He didn't want to think about Jaelynn, or about Morlo, or about them together, which he knew would never happen. He didn't want to consider why he wouldn't just kill someone who made it blatant that they were enemies.

So he rode ahead of the caravan, scouting. His hawk seemed to sense his mood and brought him a fresh rabbit when they stopped. For the rest of the time, Tristan kept his face blank, his back straight, and his heart hard.

It's no wonder why everyone steered clear of him.

He dumped his few possessions in his room when he got back. Arthur was trying to find him, and Tristan knew the king was seeking out yet another brotherly conversation, no doubt to ease his own conscience. Tristan made a point of not being seen.

He took his bow and a quiver of arrows to the furthest field from the dwellings. There was a cluster of trees he intended to make his target. He made himself breathe deeply and focus before firing the first shot.

The arrow landed just left of the knot on the tree he'd meant to hit. With a stern frown at himself, he notched the next arrow, and let it fly.

_Better._

He went through his entire quiver of arrows, splintering a few when he hit one on top of the other. Tristan pulled them from the tree trunk. He had about half of them out of the arrow-ridden tree trunk when he heard someone approach from behind.

Tristan's hand went for the hilt of his sword, but he didn't draw it. He was glad he didn't. Jaelynn stood there, an eyebrow raised at his reaction.

"Good to see you too," she chided. Tristan smirked back, and it drew a smile from her. He turned back to his arrows. Her footsteps neared him, until he saw her to his side, watching him work.

It was kind of unnerving, being watched like that—mainly because it was her. He straightened himself and cleared his throat.

"You want to learn?" he asked. _Sure, that will make things easier for you._ He almost groaned at himself, but she nodded enthusiastically.

"It'd round out my training," she commented. He nodded, and resumed his work, plucking out the arrows. Something was wrong though. She wasn't talking—not that she was a chatterbox, but she normally made some conversation. Instead, she just watched him. Slowly, he could feel it, that tension.

_Ignore it._

He walked back to where he'd left his bow, with Jaelynn following quietly behind him. He held out the bow to her. It was big for her, but it'd do the job to show her some basics. She held it awkwardly. Pulling it near her body, she drew back the string. It only moved a few inches. Baffled, she glanced to Tristan.

"It's hard, but you'll get it," he said. To show her, he moved behind her, wrapping his arms around hers to guide her. Immediately he felt her stiffen. This was the predicament of teaching someone archery. Trying not to let it get to him, Tristan covered her hands with his, and facilitated her grip on the bow. He drew back the string to its release point, and held it there.

Jaelynn nodded uneasily.

Suddenly she wiggled within his arms, trying to step away. Tristan released the string, and it almost snapped at his wrist. But he dropped the bow and faced Jaelynn. She paced a bit in front of him, and he could tell she was shivering.

"What?" he asked.

"I . . ." She sighed, clenching her fists. She shook her head. "I mean, I was. . ."

Frustrated with herself, he saw her roll her eyes. She took a deep breath and made herself be still. Tristan just stood there, confused and slightly amused at her actions. Then she finally voiced her thoughts.

"Tristan," she began, "I have to know something. I am sure you know that I care for you, more dearly than anyone."

Tristan swore in his mind. No, not now. He didn't need this—

"It's not just because you've saved me over and over again," she continued. "I feel I know you well, and I . . . I love you beyond the friend you have been to me."

How was she saying these things? It took a great deal of courage, he knew, and something more that he didn't.

"I just need to know." She stopped and sighed. "I need to know if you could ever feel the same way."

There it was. She had finished, and now she expected something from him. Tristan blinked several times, willing himself to come up with something to tell her. He knew it wasn't a matter of what he felt. He thought about what he had decided before.

Jaelynn watched him carefully, and he had to mask his face more. She looked so vulnerable, but also strong in presence. Her light brown hair blew around her head, but Tristan felt no wind. She looked beautiful. It was a reflection of her spirit, of who she was.

He would only taint that.

Slowly, he shook his head. He tried to open his mouth and say something. His throat dried up on him, and nothing came. He settled for bowing his head, somewhat in respect of her proclamation and also in shame of himself.

"Thank you for being honest with me," she said quietly. He heard the sincerity in her voice, but it still felt like a jab to his heart. _Honest._ She gestured to the bow and arrows. "I . . . maybe later." With that, she turned from him and walked away. He saw the stiff, forced way of her back and shoulders. She wasn't crying, that he could tell, but he felt the pain she must have felt too.

_Maybe later._

He knew she wouldn't ask him again.


	21. Responsibilities in a FarOff Land

a/n: All right, thank you again for your great comments. They're so helpful. I hope you all don't mind, but I have to tell you: a movie I worked on just came out on DVD. It's called _Everything You Want._ If you're interested, I think Wal-Mart is selling it, and your usual slew of stores. It's at least available at them all online. Anyway, on with the story—

**Responsibilities in a Far-Off Land**

She didn't leave her room after she spoke with Tristan. It'd taken the whole night to calm herself, to console herself that it was better to know and move on, than to waste her life desiring someone who never would desire her back.

Expect now, she had told Tristan, in no uncertain terms. Would it make things harder for her? She feared seeing him, feared the awkwardness that she knew would exist, at least for her. She kept telling herself that Tristan was a good man—obviously, for she cared for him—and he wouldn't make things harder on her. He wouldn't hold this against her, would he?

Even if he did, he certainly wouldn't show it.

The next day, Vanora invited her over. Jaelynn couldn't refuse her; the children wanted to see her, and if she didn't show her face sooner or later, it would only raise concern in Vanora, and then it would spread like wildfire to everyone else.

She kept up a cheery smile and prayed Vanora wouldn't see through it. If the red-head did, she didn't question Jaelynn about it.

Jaelynn left and walked through the village. She kept her eyes downcast, fearing she just might see Tristan. For once, she hoped she didn't see him.

She went to the black smith. One thing she distracted her mind with was the need for a sword of her own. It wasn't really lady-like, but she wasn't a lady. She was a healer, and she needed her own weapon, especially as she and Gawain continued her training. He had knocked on her door today, asking if she was coming out to train. Jaelynn used the visit to Vanora as an excuse.

The smithy looked surprised when she entered. But it quickly became a look of contempt.

"What do you want?" he asked gruffly. Jaelynn almost groaned; this wasn't what she needed. She had enough opposition in her life right now. But she stood straighter and narrowed her eyes. With a deep breath, she hid away any emotional response.

"I need a sword," she declared. The smithy was hardly convinced.

"Why does a girl need a sword?'

She could have grabbed the nearest sword and run him through. Well, not really, but she imagined it briefly.

"That's my business, not yours," she said. "What do you have?"

The smithy glared. "Take your pick, lass, if you can afford any of them." He gestured overdramatically at the swords in the room. Jaelynn smirked at him and began looking around the room.

Short swords, long swords, thin and wide, with decorative hilts and plain ones too. She had no idea what to even consider. Maybe she should have brought Gawain to help her. Jaelynn turned to the next selection of swords.

And standing by them was Tristan. Their eyes locked immediately, and Jaelynn felt her heart stop. Her stomach lurched, and she just wanted to disappear. He looked about the same way.

"Ah, the scout," the smithy muttered. "What do you want?" It bothered Jaelynn that the smithy was a bit more civil to Tristan than her. _Callous man._ Tristan turned away from Jaelynn without nodding or addressing her at all.

Suddenly, she didn't want a sword anymore.

"I need this sharpened," Tristan said, and he handed over his long, slightly curved blade. He left it in the smithy's hands, and then left the shop.

The smithy turned back to Jaelynn, but she felt like someone had stabbed her through the heart—again. She didn't expect him to totally ignore her, not really. But he just did. One side of her mind said it was only natural. It had been less than a day since their return and her talk with Tristan. But the other side of her said it was just proof that she should move on; Tristan didn't love her, and never would. Why hurt anymore over him?

"Find something you like?" the smithy asked. Jaelynn snapped out of her thoughts. She stared at the smithy and then shook her head. She quickly ran back to her room, and stayed there the rest of the day, even neglecting her healing duties.

Jaelynn reported to Hilden early in the morning, her mind resolutely pledged to abolish Tristan.

"How was your journey?" Hilden asked cheerily. His hair was newly shorn, and he wore the brightest of smiles. For some reason, it sickened Jaelynn. She cleared her throat uneasily.

"It's good to be back," she said. "Do you need more herbs from the market?"

Hilden shook his head.

"No, we'll have to gather some from the forest," he said. "Would you like to help me?"

She nodded eagerly.

"Good," he said. Hilden's smile faded. Jaelynn wondered why, but she busied herself gathering a few baskets for the herbs. "So you don't like the travel, eh? I was hoping you would."

Jaelynn straightened up, four baskets in hand. "Why?"

"There are more villages to visit," he said. "I was hoping to stay here for awhile, and if the journey agreed with you, I would have no qualms about sending you. But—"

"You wish me to go again?" she asked. This last journey was so unpleasant, in so many ways: from thinking Tristan was dead, to discovering he was alive, to the whole Morlo problem, to her return and declaration to Tristan.

_But you could get away._ Maybe a little distance was what she needed. Inside, her heart beat rapidly. This could be it—this could be her answer, her solution to avoid the awkwardness, to start afresh, to break her mind and heart from Tristan.

Hilden shrugged. "Only if you want to. You've learned so quickly that you're experienced enough to handle showing the other healers what to do, and the village healers need some help sometimes with other things. . . . But I hate to send you so soon—"

"I'd be happy to go," Jaelynn said. She swallowed, and her breath was quick with her newfound excitement. Hilden frowned for a moment, and she wondered if her reasons were transparent. Then, he grinned, and laughed jovially.

"Excellent!"

-0-0-

Tristan hadn't seen Jaelynn since the smithy. It was two days' past now. His false words from when she confessed her affection to him kept repeating in his mind. Well, not his words, because of course he was too cowardly to actually say anything. He just kept seeing himself shaking his head, denying Jaelynn and the love she offered freely.

_It doesn't matter. It's past now, and you still don't deserve her._

He kept himself hidden. He found himself scurrying whenever he was in public view, and felt calmer and safer in the shadows of the stables, his room, or the council room.

He sat numbly at the round table now, waiting for Arthur and everyone else to assemble. There was no urgency in the gathering, but he wondered what was needed.

Galahad and Gawain sauntered in together, with their laughter announcing them before Tristan could see them.

"Tristan," each knight said, greeting him. Bors' voice boomed down the hallway, and all three knights glanced at the door until he came in.

"What's wrong now?" Bors said by way of any greeting. He grumbled as he found his normal seat. "Every time we come here there's some problem."

"Yeah, but at least Tristan's here this time," Galahad said. He grinned mischievously. "So we know _he's_ not the trouble."

Bors laughed loudly at that, eyeing the scout. Tristan grunted.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he mumbled. "You want me to stay home next time someone takes Vanora?"

That shut the loud knight up. Galahad cleared his throat.

"Yes, it was because of Vanora that you went." Bors and Gawain cracked a grin, and Tristan just rolled his eyes at Galahad's sarcasm.

"Speaking of Jaelynn," Gawain piped up, "I asked her if she wanted you to teach her archery. She said she wasn't interested in archery anymore."

Gawain, Galahad and Bors stared at Tristan, just waiting for an explanation. Tristan wondered if Jaelynn had told anyone about him. He doubted it—Jaelynn wasn't a whiner, and she probably preferred to keep this to herself. But the fools in front of him still grinned and waited for an answer.

Tristan stared back blankly.

"Knights," came a voice they all knew. Tristan was relieved when he saw Arthur. They all sat, and Tristan was a little surprised that no others joined them. No Britons, not Guinevere—just the knights. For some reason, it made him feel more at ease. It was like old times.

"Tristan," Arthur said with a nod in his direction. "Good to have you back. Are you all right?"

_How does he know about –_ _Oh._ Arthur wasn't talking about Jaelynn. He meant Nasica. In truth, he hadn't thought about the woman in awhile. _That should tell you something._ He didn't really care for her, or not deep enough for it to affect him for long.

_Maybe that's because of Jaelynn._

"Fine," was all he said back. Arthur accepted this, and turned to the others.

"Hilden has come to me, requesting that Jaelynn be sent out to more villages," Arthur said. Tristan sat a little straighter. "The villages could use some more help, and Hilden wants to stay at the Wall."

"Lazy bum," Bors mumbled. Arthur shot him a look. "Well, why send Jaelynn?"

"Do you know of any other healer?" Gawain brought up. Bors shrugged.

"She just started learning."

Arthur began to pace calmly in front of the men. Tristan wondered why he didn't just sit. "Hilden says she knows enough," Arthur said, moving on. "The reason I've asked you here is for Jaelynn's protection. We wouldn't normally send Hilden with a guard or escort, but with Jaelynn I feel we should."

Tristan nodded along with the rest of the knights. Any lady should be sent with an escort, and being Jaelynn, he wholeheartedly agreed. But then he thought about where Arthur was heading.

"Which of you would like to go?" Arthur asked. "The journey should last a few weeks, and I'd rather send someone she knows to accompany her."

Instantly, all eyes turned to Tristan.

"Bors," he said by way of defense. "You should take her."

"Nawh, Vanora'd kill me," the loud knight said. Galahad and Gawain exchanged looks, and Tristan didn't miss the subtle grin on their faces.

"Well, Lucinda needs me here," Gawain said. He was a bit too loud as he said it, and it easily gave away his lie. But Arthur didn't protest.

"And Jaelynn and I didn't get along too well," Galahad said. Tristan rolled his eyes. Could his lie be any worse? Everyone got along well with Jaelynn! Arthur raised an eyebrow. Galahad rephrased his objection. "Not as well as she and Tristan get along. He should go."

As if to further emphasize his choice, he pointed directly at the scout. Tristan shifted in his seat and began to shake his head.

"Are you willing, Tristan?" Arthur asked. There was that concerned but authoritative tone to the king's voice, and he frowned at Tristan. "I know you've just returned, but you do like the travel more than any of us."

"He doesn't have anyone to make him stay behind," Gawain added. Tristan's hand casually went to his dagger. Gawain leaned away from the table.

The scout glanced coolly from each man to the next. "I thought I get in trouble every time I leave."

Galahad snickered. Arthur glared at the knight.

"I trust you can take care of yourself, and Jaelynn," Arthur said. There was sincerity in what he said. He wasn't just trying to match-make or jab him about anything.

Which is why Tristan agreed.

-0-0-

Tristan.

Of all people. Of all the Briton warriors, or the knights.

_Tristan_ was accompanying her. _"To protect you."_ That just rubbed coarse salt in the wound. She probably needed protection, to an extent, but from Tristan?

Of all _people!_

But of course, Jaleynn couldn't object. To do that would make way too much apparent to anyone. So she smiled politely and nodded along to what Hilden and Arthur told her. Inside, she was fuming.

All she wanted to do was get away. Escape. Focus on something else. Something more worthy of her time and thoughts. But no—she wasn't fortunate enough for things to actually occur as she planned. And now, she would be traveling with Tristan for three weeks, at least!

Two weeks ago, she would have been elated. Now, she dreaded it. Jaelynn resolved that her heart would not be hurt anymore. But one look from Tristan or one of his rare words could make her doubt. She was tired of that game, of trying to find alternate meanings or intentions to his every movement. Hence, why she wanted to remove herself from the situation altogether.

Thwarted, yet again. Could she suffer any more bad luck?

It was when they were a day into their journey that Jaelynn started to fume over the situation more. _She_ was the one who had a mission here. _She_ was the one who needed to travel, to serve the villages and offer her limited healing knowledge. Someone assigned her protection—a guard, really. Maybe that's how she had to view things now.

For once, it wasn't raining, snowing, or freezing. It actually was a warmer day for the winter month. Jaelynn removed the hood around her face, and enjoyed some rare sunshine. She sat tall in her saddle. Her eyes never once wandered to the scout beside her. She simply wouldn't allow it. Once again, this was her turf; her mission. She wouldn't let Tristan spoil it.

That didn't mean she didn't feel the scout's eyes on her. Maybe, for a change, she was unnerving him with her silence. She hadn't spoken a word to him since they left the fort, and neither had he. They simply nodded to each other, and rode out.

The cry of a bird caught her attention. Gliding gracefully and basking in the sun, Tristan's hawk descended. It landed on the scout's outstretched arm. Jaelynn couldn't help but watch the bird. It hopped around before settling calmly as its master rode.

"Do you want to hold her?" Tristan asked. Jaelynn's eyes darted from the bird to the scout. He held his arm out, as if to urge the hawk towards her.

Jaelynn shook her head, and looked away. She gave her horse a little kick, and rode a few paces ahead of Tristan.

-0-0-

This was exactly what he suspected would happen. Jaelynn was ignoring him. Tristan could choke on the uncomfortable tension between them.

_It's your own fault._

He shook his head, drawing a curious look from his hawk. He studied the bird's beady eyes, staring right back at him. The hawk tilted her head to the side, and he wondered what she was thinking.

Not wanting the judgment of even his hawk, he raised his arm suddenly to launch her to the sky. Maybe she'd find a rabbit for dinner. Another hour or so, and they would need to make camp.

He wondered how unbearable the night would be.

He found out later.

She still hadn't said a word to him. Tristan sat by the fire he'd built and turned the rabbit his hawk brought back over the flames. Jaelynn sat against a tree, a good twenty feet away, reading one of her healing scrolls. Her eyes never left the words she read.

Tristan grabbed his dagger and cut the rabbit up.

"Come eat," he said. Jaelynn glanced up. Her eyes focused only on the meat. Somehow, that disappointed Tristan.

She stood up and came to his side. He held some of the meat for her to take, and take it she did. She went right back to her tree to eat and read at the same time.

Tristan sighed. It was going to be a long three weeks at this rate. But he had no one to blame but himself. _I should have explained why it wouldn't work. _Aside from his invitation to hold the hawk and to eat the rabbit, he hadn't spoken to her—or seen her—since he was shooting arrows at a tree.

_Should I tell her why now?_ She deserved an explanation.

_It'll make it worse._ That was true too. Maybe the last thing he should do was bring up the past. _Kind of an ironic thought, coming from you._ He grunted to himself and the dead rabbit before him. This was all so foreign to him. It reminded him of how out of place he felt in Rome. He shook his head at himself.

_Peace offering._ Maybe that would work. He couldn't use the meal—that flopped, quite obviously. _What else?_

_The black smith._ She was there, looking for something—a sword. Tristan's eyes moved to his saddle, where his extra sword was tucked. He had his old one strapped on his back. The new sword was well-made, and obviously a newer workmanship. The smithy had done a good job. It was a heavier blade though. Tristan didn't care for it as much as he did his old sword, even though it was newer and probably a bit stronger. Somehow, though, it wasn't enough for Jaelynn. She deserved something better.

He almost dreaded his next thought.

His old sword. The one he'd used against hundreds or thousands of men and women. The one that survived like he did through his servitude. He pulled the blade from his scabbard.

The long blade gleamed in the firelight. Tristan tested the edge where the smithy had sharpened it. It sliced into his skin, not enough to bleed, but enough to know it was dangerous. _Too dangerous for her. . ._ That was an excuse, and he recognized it. He hated to part with this sword. But it was lighter, and Jaelynn would grow used to the length as she practiced. And maybe she would notice that it wasn't just any sword, but one that he favored for more than fifteen years.

Was he being a complete sap for even dwelling on this? Was a gift for Jaelynn the wrong way to go? Would it just confuse her? _All she ever asked for was you._ He would never be good enough for her. No man would.

_And what will you do, when another man does try to win her?_ Morlo had tried, albeit quite foolishly. Gawain had even said he would court her, if it weren't for Lucinda. Tristan wished Lucinda a long life, just to prevent that.

_Dumb scout._ For all his observations of things and people around him, he was blind to realize he might be wrong. It made Tristan shudder. What if he . . .

_No._

_Why not?_

What if he . . . _was_ good enough for Jaelynn? Could he ever really trust anyone else to care for her as he did? To protect her?

_And love?_ He wasn't really there yet, partially because of how he felt about their difference in age. But he wasn't her father. As much as he chided himself for being old enough to be her father, he really wasn't. That man was older, at least by five, ten, maybe even fifteen years.

Orange and yellow flames danced on the sword. Tristan blinked a few times, setting aside his thoughts. She was watching him, he could tell. He could always tell, and feel it. He didn't look up at her though. She would only look away angrily. Instead, he studied the blade, its imperfections from time, and considered if Jaelynn would really like it.

-0-0-

More riding. Her back bothered her from all the riding. Maybe the carriage was a better way to go.

Tristan hadn't said much today. He told her to get ready to go, and now they rode. That was it. Jaelynn prided herself on not responding back.

_Am I being completely childish for ignoring him?_ Defiantly, she told herself no. She was mad at him. She had every right to be.

She didn't realize it, but her fists were balled around the reins of the horse. She frowned, making lines crease her face.

"What's wrong?"

She jumped, startled at the sudden words from Tristan. He nodded at her tense posture. Everything inside of her wanted to ignore him, but that _would_ be childish when he asked her a direct question. She took a deep breath.

"Nothing," she said.

"You're lying," Tristan remarked. A flash of anger sent Jaelynn's blood racing. _How _dare_ he!_

"And how would you know?"

Tristan shrugged as if her tone didn't unease him at all. She _hated_ that about him. He was never nervous.

"I know you," he said simply. That did it.

Jaelynn pulled up harshly on the reins. Tristan's horse stopped too, but pranced around, as if wondering what caused the delay.

"You know me?" she repeated. Tristan had enough sense to not interrupt her. "Did you know why I decided to come on this trip?" The scout didn't move; not even one of his braids swayed in the light breeze. "Did you?"

Reluctantly, Tristan shook his head.

"That's what I thought," Jaelynn said. "How could you? You don't think about anyone but yourself." That was unfair, but she was too angry to stop. "Did you know I agreed to travel in Hilden's place because I needed to get away? I need my space too, Tristan. Maybe it's cowardly to run away from problems, but I learned it from you."

He shifted uneasily now.

"Do _I_ ever come after _you_ when you need your time to mope?" she spat out. "No. I respected you. But you don't even have the decency to give me my space, especially after . . ." _After you refused me._ That would be going too far, and it was too recent and deep a pain to lay out now. She shook her head.

"Why did you come?" she asked next. Tristan just stared blankly at her. _Does the man show emotion, ever?_ "Why would you hurt me by making it harder for me?"

The wind picked up then, blowing Jaelynn's hair in airy swirls. Strands of her hair danced about her head. The chill of the air brought a shiver over her body, but Jaelynn still felt only heat from her anger. Tristan hadn't really moved. He sat atop his horse, his eyes at least downcast.

_Do you think he's really going to answer you?_

Jaelynn shut her eyes with a sigh. How she wished she were in a far-off land right now, with no one around her. Especially not him.

"I don't care if you're a knight," Jaelynn said, sitting taller in her saddle. Her horse jittered beneath her. "I have a purpose on this journey, and you have yours—to protect me." Her voice suddenly sounded a bit haughty, but she embraced it. This was for her own good, for her own protection. "As my guard, I ask you not to interfere and to stay out of the way unless danger is present. Don't distract me with your questions, and don't pretend to be anything to me but an assigned guard. I ask nothing more or less than that."

The request, or command, was unnatural coming from her, but Jaelynn emphasized it with a kick to her horse. The horse sauntered ahead, and Jaelynn rode with her chin in the air. There was a lump in her throat, but she swallowed it away. She had a purpose . . .

. . . and it was time Tristan stopped interfering with her heart.


	22. That Explains It

A/N: BTW, thank you everyone for your reviews. I've responded to all, I think, except: Josje, thanks for your review and discovering as well! Alex, I hope your week got better. And thank you to History2 for helping me with the direction of the story!

**That Explains It**

No wonder she was mad at him. Did Jaelynn really think he was purposely trying to hurt her?

Tristan wasn't keen on coming on this trip either, but if he'd even suspected it would have bothered her this much, he would have tied Galahad to the saddle in his place. Her words echoed in his mind.

"_I need my space too, Tristan. Maybe it's cowardly to run away from problems, but I learned it from you."  
_

He supposed he deserved that. Yes, he did run away. It was his defense when people pestered him or speculated what a cold-hearted assassin he was. And it was cowardly—so unlike what he was on the battlefield. He didn't understand how he was so different on such a fundamental element—of courage.

"_Do I ever come after you when you need your time to mope?"_

Well, he hadn't known that was what she was doing, so he didn't fault himself for that one.

And then there was her dismissal. She treated him like a servant, ordering him to stay out of the way. She wanted to be left alone, without him interfering. _Do I distract her? Am I just a painful reminder?_

He knew the answer to both questions.

Jaelynn hadn't turned back to look at him once since the end of her words. She rode quickly ahead of him, leaving Tristan to follow or not. Of course, he followed, but he let himself give her space now. _Or maybe you're giving yourself space._

_Coward._

They reached the village just hours later. An older woman came out to greet Jaelynn. Tristan stayed seated in his saddle, watching as Jaelynn dismounted and met the woman. She was the village's healer. Her eyes flickered to Tristan.

"You both may stay with me," she said politely, although her eyes didn't speak of trusting the scout. Tristan wasn't even trying to intimidate.

"No, I hate to inconvenience you," Jaelynn said, her voice all sweetness. She had a cold gleam to her eyes though. "If you like, my guard may stay in the stables. He's quite at home there."

He glared at her, but she didn't see it. The healer glanced between them.

"It's no trouble," she said. "Did you bring anything new from Hilden?" the healer asked eagerly. Jaelynn smiled, and turned to Tristan. She waved at him, and it reminded Tristan of how Germanius used to wave him off.

"My guard has the supplies."

Again, Tristan glared at her, and she saw it and answered with a smirkful victory. Tristan handed her a bag, which the healer intercepted and took inside her home.

"Your guard has a name," Tristan muttered. Jaelynn shrugged and took some supplies into the healer's home.

-0-0-

The next morning, Jaelynn was ready and about her duties before Tristan. That in itself bothered him, but then she pushed it by never acknowledging he was there.

She emerged from the home of a sick villager, and walked to the healer's home. Tristan leaned against the healer's house, just watching her go back and forth. This was the third time for her to do this, and just like those times, her eyes didn't even flicker in his direction.

It was ticking him off.

He heard her move within the healer's home, and then her footsteps came back towards him. She walked right by him.

"Jaelynn, stop," he said, grabbing her by the arm. Jaelynn's eyes flashed angrily, and Tristan released her. He was struck by the intensity within her. She really hated him now.

"What?" she asked icily.

_Good question._ Maybe he shouldn't have . . . _No, this has to end._ Tristan turned and went inside the house. He heard Jaelynn step just inside as he moved around and found what he was looking for. His old sword. It was wrapped in cloth. He laid it out on the floor. Slowly, he unwrapped the long bulk, until his old sword appeared in its scabbard.

Jaelynn came closer, standing over him and the sword. Glancing up at her, he saw the frown on her face. Tristan grasped the sword and handed it to her by the hilt.

"What's this?" she asked.

"A sword." He waited for her to get a firm grip on it, and ignored the glare she gave him. "In case you need it."

"This is _your_ sword," she said, moving to give it back. Tristan shook his head.

"Not anymore." He gathered the cloth he'd wrapped the weapon in, trying to resist the urge to study her. Somehow he felt it'd just make her more upset. The cloth in his hands, Tristan stood and saw Jaelynn staring bewilderedly at the blade.

She slid the blade from the scabbard, her eyes never straying from the clean, strong metal. There was delight and awe in her eyes, and it warmed Tristan. He wasn't used to the feeling. It disappeared as Jaelynn quickly sheathed the blade and nodded at him.

"Thank you."

-0-0-

He gave her his sword. _His _sword.

They'd been riding for another day now, having finished quickly at the first village. Jaelynn still kept her communication with the scout to a minimum. She knew it drew tense attention from the healer of the village, but the sweet woman was wise enough not to intrude.

She couldn't really keep this up, she knew. Jaelynn was just hurt. She would recover, but for now, Tristan was still a constant reminder of rejection. Her heart constricted painfully whenever she saw him. And despite her harsh words to him, he was doing exactly what she told him not to.

Interfering.

To his credit, he wasn't trying to be in the way or distract her. But his mere presence . . . it was as she feared. She hung on every word, until she discovered that's what she was doing and then cast aside any thought of Tristan's words or actions.

Of course, the sword as a gift did not help. Her mind told her it was a weapon, so she was safer (even though her skills using such a blade were insufficient). Her heart told her it was the ultimate gift, an expression of—dare she hope—love. From another man, it might be a beautiful flower or a jewel. From Tristan, the sword was worth a million jewels.

_Stop dreaming._

_It is a weapon—a spare one at that, since he uses a new sword now._

The steady canter of her horse shifted the blade in its scabbard against her back. Despite her confusion, she wasn't about to let the sword lie around useless. Tristan had seemed pleased, or maybe not. His face remained blank, but he did help her tie it securely so it would not move much as she rode.

He didn't push for anymore conversation. Jaelynn was glad. She didn't know what to say anymore. It saddened her. She felt like she lost all ease and comfort with the scout. _Partially all your doing._ Maybe. But for now, resuming their friendship would just lengthen the time of her pain.

The journey to the next village would take at least four days. They stopped within the woods for the first night. Jaelynn left any worries to Tristan, and distanced herself from him. She was out of his sight when she drew the sword from its scabbard.

Her arm stretched awkwardly just to draw out the blade. It was narrow and long. She'd never noticed just how thin the blade was. She thumbed the edge, and gasped at how sharp it was. The slight curve at the end of the blade was beautiful, though she knew it would serve to be more deadly.

She bounced the sword in her hand, testing the weight. It was heavier than any stick she'd practiced with against Gawain. She had no idea how it compared to other swords.

Her eyes caught the beauty of the hilt. It was simple, wrapped in leather or some such material. A gold or brass circle sat at the base of the blade, and she noted how clean it looked. _Simple._

But beautiful to her.

Unbidden, her heart radiated a warmth. She hated it and loved it at the same time. It was the same with the blade.

She stood up straight and held the blade in front of her face with the tip skyward. Her mind flashed with images of Tristan wielding this very sword. How fluid his movements were. She wondered if she would ever be able to fight so gracefully. With just a simple step forward, a spin and duck beneath an enemy's sword, and then an almost effortless thrust—resulting in death.

No, maybe she didn't ever want to fight like that. Her training was important to her, but it was defensive. She was not a warrior; she was a healer, perhaps the exact opposite profession of Tristan and the other knights. She had injured, maybe killed a man before—she thought specifically of the man in the sea cave, one of the marauders—but it was to defend herself. What Tristan and the others did was also defensive, in some ways, but it looked for trouble.

_Especially Tristan._ She smiled. What a knack the man had for finding the worst sort of mischief.

She didn't fault him for his killing though. He excelled at it. Why shouldn't he? It's all he knew for a good 15 years or more. But she knew Tristan enough to know that there was more to him. That he didn't relish killing like everyone thought he did.

_And you're thinking about him again._

Frustrated with her lapse, she lowered the sword with a sigh.

"Do you want to train?" she heard behind her.

Jaelynn didn't turn to face him. She eyed the sword and again bounced it in her hand.

"It's heavy," she said. It wasn't really an answer, but it was the shortest phrase beyond a 'yes' or 'no' that came to mind.

Tristan's footsteps brought him in front of her. He nodded at the sword.

"It takes time," he said. "Your arms will adjust to the weight. You just have to practice."

And then he raised one eyebrow, as if he were repeating his previous question.

Jaelynn looked away from him and favored the sword with a glance. Yes, she wanted to train with the sword. She just wasn't crazy about training with him.

"Maybe later," she said.

She left him, sheathing the sword a little awkwardly back in its scabbard as she walked.

-0-0-

Ugh.

Three days on horseback did little for her comfort. It wasn't just a matter or riding anymore. In some ways, her body was used to the aches. But the smell—well, that was another matter.

Jaelynn longed for a bath, or a bed. Both, preferably. Tristan didn't show that he was bothered at all. _He does this all the time._ He _was_ a scout after all.

It was after noon, and the sun was waning already. Jaelynn thought they would continue for another two hours at least, but suddenly Tristan changed directions.

"This way," he said, and he gave his horse an encouraging kick. Jaelynn followed him into the thick trees, wondering why there was such drastic change in course. _Maybe something is wrong._

_Does he sense some danger?_

The hawk didn't, because she glided happily above them and the trees. Jaelynn frowned. She would have to wait and see. She did not want to ask him anything.

It took a good detour from their original path, but Jaelynn heard something in the distance. Tristan turned in his saddle, showing some semblance of a smile to her. Jaelynn still frowned. It was a slight sound from here, muffled but . . . familiar.

As they got closer, Jaelynn understood where they were. Well, not where, really, but what they were near.

"A waterfall," she said aloud without meaning to. A rushing curtain of water fell over a steep green cliff, and dove into the pool of crisp water at the cliff's base. Jaelynn saw the mist the waterfall gave off. It was still cold outside, and she could only imagine how much colder the water was, but she could smell how dirty she was. _Tempting . . ._

Tristan dismounted, tying his horse to a tree. He quickly gathered some wood and set up a fire. Jaelynn wondered why he started one so soon. Normally he waited . . .

Normally, they didn't stop this early.

"Are we staying the night here?" she asked. Tristan nodded.

Jaelynn stared at the water, watching it cascade into the little pond and drain down a stream over some rocks further away from her. Moss covered the rocks above the water, but beneath, she saw the rocks themselves were smooth. She knelt by the water, and dipped her hand in to touch the smooth surface.

A shudder ran through her body. The water was very cold, maybe too cold to even consider bathing in. If only she had a large pot, she might consider warming the water over the fire and bathing elsewhere.

She turned to the fire Tristan started. Jaelynn frowned. He wasn't there.

Turning to survey the area, she saw Tristan untying his armor. His sword was already on the ground, and he dropped his armor on top of it. He stripped his shirts off as well, and even his boots. Jaelynn stood there, blinking to make sure she was really seeing this.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

Tristan glanced through the head of his shirt as he took it off. He nodded at the water.

"Swimming." With that, he stepped into the water. Jaelynn gasped, and she saw him tense as well, but then he waded in further and dove beneath the surface.

_He'll freeze!_

Maybe not, but she knew the cold was not wise for anyone.

She saw him swim beneath the water just a few strokes, and then he burst through the surface. He gasped, and she saw how quickly his chest heaved. But the smile on his face told her he was fine.

"You're crazy," she said loudly. Tristan grinned.

"You should try it."

_Being crazy or the water?_

"It's not too bad," he said. She saw the goosebumps over his flesh from where she stood. His skin had a muted blue pallor to it.

"You're turning blue," she said. He shrugged.

"Beats the smell," he said, a twinkle in his eyes. With that, he dove beneath the water again. Jaelynn watched, enthralled, tempted, and horrified as he braved and swam in the water.

She watched until he surfaced again, and then reason overtook her. Watching him wasn't helping. She could see his chest, basically a half-naked man whom she harbored love for, against her will. As much as she hated the smell of their journey and her sweat, she couldn't join him in the water. It was an invitation to disaster, for her.

She wouldn't risk it. It was improper in many ways, and although she and Tristan should be above that, _she_ wasn't. It was necessary, for her protection.

Tristan emerged from the water ten minutes later. He quickly redressed and got by the fire.

"You should go," he said, nodding at the water.

Jaelynn raised an eyebrow. "Is that a hint?"

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips.

Jaelynn, though, did want that bath. With him out of the water, she felt less apprehension. _Except what do you do about your clothes? _Scowling, she took off her boots and her outer clothing. She left a thin shirt and her traveling pants on. It would be easier without them, but Tristan was behind her.

She walked over the rocks bare-foot, tracing the side of the water pool. Her eyes kept going to the waterfall. It thundered but the beauty lessened the threat, and Jaelynn just basked in its power.

She glanced at the sky. It was still light out, and that was good for when she would come out of the water. She would need the warmth.

Jaelynn cast aside that thought and dove into the water, head first.

Her body froze beneath the water. Literally, she could not move for a full five seconds. But as her body moved forward from her dive and she surfaced a few feet away, the air revived her.

She couldn't help but gasp as Tristan had, the cold setting in. But it _was_ invigorating. Kicking to keep herself afloat, she grinned and breathed deeply to get a hold over the cold. She glanced around her. The water was deeper than she thought, but she was in the middle of the pond now. She wondered if the thundering veil of water made the pond so deep.

She swam towards the waterfall. The water pushed beneath the surface where it hit, and she could feel the current. She kicked against it, moving her body closer.

Jaelynn grinned, and dove beneath the surface. Under the water, she felt the pressure from the waterfall, but she used her arms to pull herself further beneath the falls. She opened her eyes, and saw a blue mask of bubbles. She smiled.

She quickly let herself come up for air, and then fell beneath the water again to go through the bubbles.

The water fascinated her. Beneath the falls were rocks and plants, and she even saw little fish. They seemed to congregate by the cliff wall, behind the falls. Jaelynn swam closer. Again, the pulsing pressure of the falls pushed into the water and over her. It felt good, actually, but she wanted to see behind the falls and near the cliff wall. She swam forward, beneath the surface of the water.

Suddenly something caught her foot. Jaelynn shrieked, losing her air as well. She kicked out, struggling against what held her. She turned and saw it was Tristan. _What!_

He pulled himself closer, and grabbed her about the waist. Jaelynn struggled against him instinctively. He swam for the surface, taking her with him.

Jaelynn gasped as they made it above water. She coughed and squirmed, but Tristan held her fast.

"It's all right," he said. He was practically shouting; they were behind the waterfall, and it roared by them.

"Why did you do that!" Jaelynn shouted back. She pried at his hands around her waist, and succeeded to at least turn and face him. He looked baffled. His hair was wet and covered his face. He let out a puff of air as he kicked to stay afloat, and then flicked his head back and forth so he could see past his hair.

"You were drowning," he said.

Jaelynn let out an exasperated sigh. "No, I was exploring. I started drowning when you grabbed me!"

"I thought—" He stopped. "You weren't in trouble?"

Jaelynn shook her head. She kicked with extra effort. For some reason, she was feeling the cold now, and it made it harder to stay above water. She weaved her arms in the water to help buoy her weight.

Tristan noticed. He took her by the wrist and swam the short distance to the cliff walls that were hidden by the waterfall. Jaelynn almost protested, but she was tiring.

He grabbed at a rock in the wall and pulled himself towards it. It gave him some leverage and some rest. He pulled her towards him.

"Grab on," he said. Jaelynn didn't argue, but tried not to show her tiredness. She grabbed at the rocks. They were slick; she wasn't able to find much of a grip. She kicked a little harder to get herself closer and tried again.

Tristan let go of his hold, and came close to her. She tensed as he wrapped his arm around her waist, and swam backwards to his spot at the wall. He gripped it again, and pulled him and Jaelynn up enough so they did not have to tread water so hard.

His arm stayed about her waist. Her back was pressed against his chest, and she felt his wet hair dripping onto her shoulders. They were slightly exposed; the water loosened her shirt, and it slipped just off her shoulders and clung elsewhere to her frame. Her chest heaved a bit. She felt Tristan's moving too. She wondered if he was aware of how he was holding her. Was it just the cold that made him struggle to control his breath?

_It's the cold for you, and the exertion._ Probably the same for him too, she decided.

"Sorry," she heard him say in her ear. His breath was warm in contrast to everything around them. She shuddered slightly. Tristan tightened his hold around her. "I thought you needed help."

Stunned, for many reasons, she just nodded.

"Are you cold?" he asked next. He was shaking. It was slight, but she definitely felt cold tremors vibrate through him. She didn't feel much better.

"Yes," she admitted, her teeth chattering.

"Let's go back."

He let her go, and Jaelynn turned to face him. She misjudged how close they were, because she found herself near his face. Her eyes found his, and she almost gasped. She hadn't meant for this to happen, much less intensify this awkward situation.

But he stared steadily back at her, even though both of them were freezing now and treading the cold water. The movement of his arms in the water brought him closer to her. _Did he mean to do that?_

His eyes didn't leave hers. Those light brown eyes . . . He was leaning in.

Suddenly he moved past her, and dove beneath the water.

Did she imagine the leaning-in thing? _It must be the cold_, she thought. _Just as well._ She needed to get out of the water quickly, before her rationale and resolve disintegrated in the cold water.

It was time to eat something and get ready for the night, wherein she would dream a dreamless sleep, with no Tristan and no feelings for him.

A realm of safety from rejection.

-0-0-

He hardly slept. Tristan stayed most of the night sitting up and watching her.

His mind replayed how he felt when he saw her barely gasp for air by the waterfall. The horror he felt—he thought she was drowning.

He'd torn off his boots and shirt and dove into the water, frantically searching for her by the waterfall.

And then, behind the waterfall . . . she was there, in his arms. No one but them, hidden from the world. Her trembling body against his, and those eyes—those innocent but warm brown eyes, staring at him.

_No_, his mind had told him. _It's not the time._ She still hated him, and he didn't want her to be confused about his actions. _Especially if you don't know what you're doing._ And that left him sitting by the fire in the middle of the night, watching her sleeping form.

_Are you really thinking of this? Of her?_

She was all that really mattered. Even back at the fort at the Wall, the knights and Arthur, Guinevere, Vanora, maybe even Hilden—they wouldn't fault him for this, would they?

For caring for her?

She shifted in her sleep, turning towards the fire. The glow radiated off her skin.

Behind the waterfall, he knew what discovery he'd made. She was a woman, not the child he kept telling himself she was. As he held her, the hammering of his heart and his shallow breaths pointed to how he felt about her. As she turned to face him, the sight of her made him see—she was the most beautiful thing. No waterfall or flower or any other woman could compare.

What was he to do about it now?

Tristan sighed softly, and sat back to wait for morning to come.


	23. Dining and Dancing

**a/n:** This is about half the length of my normal chapters, and I apologize for that and the delay. I'm really struggling with this chapter and the next, maybe because I know things are coming to a close. But please stay with me and send me your feedback—they help me a lot! Thanks!

**Dining and Dancing**

The next village was easy to find as they got closer. Firelight around the village made the area glow against the sky, and the noise was unmistakable.

The people were celebrating. Jaelynn glanced over at Tristan, who was frowning. The area smelled of good, warm food, and Jaelynn licked her lips. People walked about with large trays and baskets of food. She didn't know the reason for this celebration, but she hoped the villagers would be hospitable enough to include her and Tristan.

Amazingly, they did. Three villagers--an older man and woman, and a positively graying, shriveled old woman--came to them as soon as Jaelynn and Tristan were seen.

"Need a place to stay for the night?" the gray woman asked. Her voice shook, but her eyes still sparkled. Jaelynn glanced at Tristan before answering.

"My name is Jaelynn," she said. "This is Tristan, a knight from King Arthur's court. Hilden, our healer, sent me to you." The man's eyes lit up.

"Wonderful!" he exclaimed. "We've been expecting Hilden for months. I'm glad he at least sent you here." Jaelynn wasn't sure if that was really a good thing, but the man's companion—his wife?—swatted him.

"We're glad you're here," she said, correcting any backhanded welcome. "Come eat. There's quite a feast and celebration tonight." She called out to a young boy to look after her horse and Tristan's.

"You both must be hungry," she said. She gently took Jaelynn by the arm, and Tristan by his. Tristan looked slightly alarmed, and Jaelynn grinned. He wasn't used to being welcomed.

"What is everyone celebrating?" Jaelynn asked. Several villagers gathered around two tables of food and a fire pit. She saw people dancing as well.

The old, gray woman answered. "My granddaughter has taken a husband." She glanced at Tristan—_winked_ at him—and led the way.

They left their things in yet another home, and then joined the feast. Jaelynn's stomach grumbled eagerly, and there was a quickness to Tristan's step that made her think she wasn't the only excited about a fresh, hot meal.

Cheers sounded as they walked in. Jaelynn blinked, stunned—were they greeting her? The villagers waved at her and Tristan, or maybe to their escort. But as soon as they neared the group, people started to bring trays of food around, up to her and to Tristan. Amazingly, no one seemed shy or frightened of Tristan. Jaelynn smiled, and took a piece of meat and a small loaf of bread in her hands.

They stood to the side of the festivities, watching and eating. Tristan bit into an apple. Jaelynn eyed it. It looked refreshing. She hadn't had much fruit on their trip. Tristan reached into his coat, and pulled out another apple. He nodded at her and handed her the fruit.

She hesitated. It was nice of him—which threw her off. She took it though, and started munching away.

The quiet between them stayed over the last few days, but Jaelynn was finding it more and more comfortable. As long as she didn't think about their proximity under the waterfall, or wonder what he was thinking all the time, she was fine. As if to help her now, Jaelynn cleared her mind and focused on the villagers.

Men and women danced as part of the celebration. One woman kept glancing at Tristan. Jaelynn found it annoying, but Tristan didn't seem to notice. _Since when is he not observant?_ The woman had long, blonde hair. It was curly too, so curly in fact that it looked messy to Jaelynn. Still, the woman came up to Tristan. Jaelynn stopped breathing.

"Would you like to join me?" She gestured to the open area where the others danced. Jaelynn was glad for that—otherwise, she might have been soliciting something other than dance.

Tristan shook his head. It surprised Jaelynn, and she raised an eyebrow at him when he faced her, but she didn't comment on it.

To shock her further, Jaelynn felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned and saw a tall, handsome man, probably Galahad's age although his appearance reminded her of Arthur. He bowed courteously, took her by the hand, and Jaelynn suddenly found herself amidst the dancing villagers.

At first, she felt horribly awkward. Her feet would not cooperate, and she knew her face was as red as the fire. But the man who danced with her did not seem to mind. He smiled encouragingly and led her through the simply tune a group of villagers played.

She returned back to the corner she and Tristan had selected before, out of breath but pleasantly invigorated. Tristan didn't look at her. He was staring out at the villagers, observing their movements.

"That was refreshing," she commented a bit lamely. Tristan grunted. His eyes were fixed on one woman who was coming his way. She had red hair and dark eyes, but Tristan shook his head as she neared. Immediately, she changed course, her face a bit downfallen—though within minutes she had another partner.

Jaelynn smiled to herself. How simply he had rejected the red-haired woman. She wondered why. The woman looked pleasant enough. Jaelynn decided to ask.

"Why do you not dance with them?" she asked. When Tristan didn't answer, she persisted. "They might see it as rude for you to ignore them."

He shrugged at that.

"I don't want to dance," he said.

"Why not?"

She saw him roll his eyes. He shifted around. "Do I look like I dance?"

"Are you saying you can't?" She hadn't ever seen him dance, but with his natural grace, especially as she'd seen in battle, she imagined it would come with ease for him. But Tristan shook his head.

"Just don't want to dance with them."

For some reason, even though she was curious to press him further, she let it go.

Four more men, some young, and some older than Tristan, came to her, and she danced among the friendly villagers. Every now and then, she glanced Tristan's way, wondering why he wouldn't loosen up. He watched her though, and she had to fight the urge to be self-conscious. _No. Just relax, and have fun._ And she did.

When the fourth man returned her to where she'd been with Tristan, Jaelynn found that Tristan was gone. She looked around for him, but he wasn't anywhere to be seen. Many of the villagers were leaving though. The fire was dying, and the liveliness was waning. Jaelynn fought back a yawn.

She started back to the home they were staying in. Her feet ached, yet she was lifted up by the festivities. It was a nice change from simply being quiet and polite as in the other villages, and from the long silences with Tristan.

Something snagged her sleeve. Jaelynn turned with a frown on her face. _Someone_ had snagged her sleeve. It was one of the men she danced with. He looked far beyond stable. He swayed before her, and somehow his grip on her arm was strong.

"Yes?" she asked, though her heart started to beat more quickly. The man grinned and leaned towards her. She smelled the drink on his breath, ducked away from him, and yanked her arm free.

"What!" the man yelled. The sudden volume only made Jaelynn's heart race faster. _This could turn badly._ He reached for her, but Jaelynn dodged him and dashed to the side. "Come home with me." He showed a slobbering grin. Jaelynn sighed.

"No," she said, stepping away from him without turning her back on him. His features hardened, creating deep creases in his forehead.

"Why not?" Again, his voice was far louder than necessary, and he dove for her angrily. Jaelynn twisted away from him, ready to run, but he nabbed her side, catching her clothes. It was enough for him to pull her closer and grab her around the waist. Jaelynn panicked. Her mind drew a blank, wondering who would help her.

She opened her mouth to scream, until she realized she knew what to do.

She slammed her elbow in his gut, eliciting a painful groan from the man. Jaelynn wriggled from his hold, kicked the man right on the knee, and waited until he fell to his knees before hitting him right in the face.

His nose crunched from her hit—she actually felt it! Thrilled and scared at the same time, Jaelynn went to kick him in the side for good measure, but she stopped herself. The man was down, and rolling back and forth in pain. It would take him some time to regain himself.

She walked away, eerily confident and calm considering what just happened. _You defended yourself._

She should have been horrified. She knew it. She should have felt frightened. But she couldn't stop the grin from spreading over her face.

She just hoped she wouldn't have to treat the man tomorrow.

-0-0-

Tristan had his dagger in hand, ready to throw at the man's head. But then he saw Jaelynn's defense.

He had left the wedding celebration and gone to their sleeping quarters, but he couldn't just stay there. All he saw in his mind was Jaelynn, dancing with man after man, and how happy she looked. Being away from it though made him realize he'd just run away.

He hated that.

So he went back. And she wasn't there anymore.

Then he found her, or rather, her and a man. At first, he aimed to kill him. But Jaelynn was already beating him away, and with good form. _Gawain taught her well._ Oddly, he was proud of her.

He trailed her back the rest of the way, just to make sure she got to their temporary house safely. Maybe he should have interfered or helped her with the man, but she did it fine on her own. Tristan respected that about her. He didn't want to let her know he'd seen either.

He wasn't sure about the reason for that.

-0-0-

The next day, Tristan watched over Jaelynn cautiously. He kept thinking about the night before. _Where was her weapon?_ She was lucky to have been able to ward off the man with nothing but her feet and hands, and she might not be so lucky another time.

He wondered if he should ask her about it. She had a knife, and a sword. Why not keep a weapon on her?

Jaelynn might take offense though. Tristan grimaced; no, he wouldn't bring it up. Maybe she would tell him about the attack. He kind of hoped she would, to bridge the gap between them.

Right now, she was planting some healing herb plants in a garden for the village's use. She stood, clapping the dirt from her hands. Her hair was tied back, enough that Tristan could see the pleased smile on her face.

She came towards him, and Tristan tensed as he watched her approach.

"Tristan," she said, "can I ask a favor?"

Tristan blinked. _A favor?_ He wondered what, and nodded. Jaelynn sighed. She'd been holding her breath. _Did she think I would refuse?_

"You said once that you could teach me how to handle the sword you gave me," she said. Jaelynn shifted back and forth, and her eyes couldn't quite find his. "Could you still?"

An odd sense of peace came over Tristan, and mixed with the surprise he felt. Slowly, he nodded. Jaelynn smiled.

"Thank you." She turned away, and Tristan called out:

"Why the sudden change?" She didn't want to learn from him before, and he knew why. But now? He wondered if she would confess about the attack from last night. She turned back, and her eyes caught his. Her mouth turned up in a knowing grin, and Tristan nearly smiled back.

She shrugged, and went on her way.


	24. Useless Resistence

a/n: Real quick thank you to Domovoi and Josje for their reviews—sorry, couldn't reply through the PM system. Thanks everyone for being understanding about the shorter chapter. I hope you all enjoy this next one—it certainly was a lot of fun to write!

**Useless Resistance**

"One. Two. Three. Four." A gasp. "One. Two. Three. Four."

Jaelynn counted aloud as she moved, just like Tristan instructed her. His method was different from Gawain's, in some ways more rigid, but she could feel an improvement in her movements. As she counted, sometimes aloud and sometimes just in her head, her body acclimated to the defensive and offensive moves Tristan taught.

"Good," he said, lowering his sword. He wasn't concerned about any danger training with real weapons, and that excited Jaelynn. Then again, for her to make real progress with a sword such as Tristan's (or hers, since he gave it to her), she had to use the real thing.

Tristan stabbed the sword into the ground and left it wobbling. He came behind her, encircling his arms around her. Jaelynn was too tired right now to mind or get jittery. He clasped his hands over hers and over the hilt of the sword. His fingers specifically tightened around her wrists.

"Keep your wrists strong," he said. "The slightest movement from your wrists can change a fight." He firmly wriggled her wrist back and forth, and with it the sword. She knew her wrists had been weak before, kind of dangling the sword in her hands. Jaelynn nodded.

"Good," Tristan said, releasing her and moving back in front of her. "How're your arms?"

Jaelynn grimaced before she could stop herself. He noticed and smiled.

"Tired," she admitted. She swiped one arm across her face and managed to catch her hair too. She imagined she looked incredibly messy and unkempt, but this was training—it was allowed.

Tristan, on the other hand, could look fine no matter what. Sure, he got dirty and bloody in battle and on his journeys, but it added to the intensity and mysteriousness. It just _was_ Tristan. She wouldn't change that, or his longer hair and strange tattoos and serious yet blank expression—

_Are you still training? Don't ogle him--fight him!_ Annoyed, she pushed back her sleeves of her shirt and then returned to a fighting stance. This was training, nothing more. She wanted it that way. She did _not_ ask him to train her for any other reason than a need to learn how to use her new sword. The man who tried to attack her, albeit drunkenly, convinced her it was time, regardless if it was Tristan as her teacher or another. And Tristan made the most sense.

Tristan rotated his wrist, twirling his sword effortlessly. He nodded at her, and Jaelynn began again.

"One. Two. Three. Four."

After training until nightfall, Jaelynn felt drained and ready for rest. She watched numbly while Tristan added more wood to the fire, checked the horses, and surveyed the area for any danger. She wanted to help, but Tristan was used to the effort. She was not.

He finally settled down and sat by the fire. He was a good ten feet away from her. That bothered Jaelynn, but she didn't pursue why.

They sat in silence.

Silence was something to be respected, but with Tristan when it was ever-present, it became an annoyance. Jaelynn was comfortable enough with the quiet, but sometimes it led her to think too much about . . . things.

Luckily, Tristan broke the ban on talking.

"Your skill is better," he said without meeting her eyes. He stared at the fire.

"Thank you." Jaelynn sounded half-awake, but her mind rushed with his words. His acknowledgment of her improvement meant a lot to her—more than if it'd come from Gawain, Galahad, Bors, or even Arthur.

"I appreciate you taking the time and effort to teach me," she said. She wished she hadn't though, because her words sounded so formal. Was a nobleman near by? Who was she trying to impress with her stilted formality?

_Tristan._

She scowled at herself briefly. The silence took its place between them.

Jaelynn wondered if she should just give in to her body's demands and sleep. Studying him as discreetly as possible, Jaelynn considered what else she could do to alleviate the awkwardness between them. She knew him enough and felt comfortable enough that she didn't always have to be talking, but lately, since she yelled at him days ago, it was hard to be herself around him.

"Doesn't the firelight make it harder to see around you?" she blurted out. Tristan glanced at her, a small smile tugging at his mouth. But he nodded, much to Jaelynn's relief.

"Yes," he said. "The hawk will alert us if there's danger." _Interesting._ She never thought Tristan would relax enough to pass off scouting to the hawk, or any person. The Tristan she always saw before was always hunting danger and protecting. Not that she didn't feel safe now—Tristan's presence had a very comforting effect on her—but she wondered what made him relax.

It was good, whatever it was.

"She can see so well then? Even at night?" Jaelynn asked next. She wouldn't mind getting away from this topic she created, but at least it was something to break the silence.

Tristan nodded, making his braids jiggle.

"She has sharp eyes," he said, shifting so that he leaned back and braced his weight with his arms behind him. Suddenly he gasped and jerked his hands back. He scrambled to his feet and whirled to inspect the ground behind him.

Jaelynn saw something move there, and her breath caught in her throat. "What?"

Then she saw it. Something was slithering, just over the ground and heading for the tress.

"Snake!" she said in a whisper. She stood quickly and glanced around her. Tristan scowled at the retreating snake. He cradled his left hand with his right, gently rubbing and prodding the skin.

"Were you bit?" Jaelynn grabbed his hand as gently as possibly. Sure enough, there were two puncture marks in the back of his hand. They weren't deep, but she could see blood at the base of the mark, seeping weakly to the top on his skin.

Jaelynn hurried to her healer's bag, and dug out a vial of liquid, some crushed herb leaves, and a bandage.

"It's fine," he said, but Jaelynn already had his hand in hers. She rubbed the liquid over the marks, which were slightly red and swollen already. She frowned. Hilden taught her a lot, but snakes were not her strong point. She hoped the snake did not carry a poison.

She grabbed the crushed leaves, and worked them over the wound, but not too deeply. She couldn't let the leaves get far into the wounds themselves, or it could cause discomfort and maybe hinder the healing. Tristan gritted his teeth as she rubbed.

"Sorry," she said, easing up. She reached for the bandage, and wrapped it over his hand. "How does it feel?"

Tristan grunted, and Jaelynn rolled her eyes.

"What does that mean?"

He glanced at her, then back at his bandaged hand. "I'll live."

She laughed slightly. "I hope so. You certainly have bad luck, Tristan."

He shrugged. "You too."

The laughter died. "Me?" She didn't consider herself unlucky. Tristan raised an eyebrow.

"You want me to list them?" he asked. "Saxons, marauders, Romans, villagers . . ."

He had a point. _Villagers._ So he did know about the drunken man. Or maybe he was talking about Morlo. Either way, it kind of made her smile.

"At least I don't almost die every time I run into trouble," she said, poking a finger at his ribs. He jumped slightly, but grinned back.

"It's not on purpose."

Jaelynn patted him on his bandaged hand. "Good." She released his hand. "If you feel anything strange, let me know. I'll check it in the morning."

He nodded. For a moment, they stood in front of each other. Jaelynn was unsure of what to do, but she didn't want to move. _You should._ Nothing good would come of continuing to hope for Tristan. Everything she feared in being near him on this journey was coming true.

Tristan looked to the ground. He flexed his bandaged hand, and then glanced back to Jaelynn. She watched him, watched his eyes study hers, watched his good hand come up and near her face.

It hovered in front of her, as if Tristan were about to touch her. She could see him debate about what he would do next. Jaelynn's heart raced, and a sense of panic overcame her.

She turned away.

"Thank you," she heard him say behind her. She paused briefly, nodded and went to her bedding.

-0-0-

There was one more village, and Tristan was glad they were so close to being done with this trip. It was becoming torturous, and not because of the random mishaps like a snake bite that amounted to a scab.

It was bad enough to witness Jaelynn dancing with men. She was moving on, just like she said she wanted to. But it was worse being so near her, and yet unable to do anything about it.

Teaching her to fight was the ultimate test for Tristan. He couldn't focus. He kept urging her in his mind to make this move or that block and beat him. Not that he wanted to be defeated, but he wanted Jaelynn to succeed.

At the last village, the healer was not present—gone to visit relatives elsewhere. So the stop would be quick. It worked in Tristan's favor, he thought. But as Jaelynn was leaving herbs at the healer's home, a man ran towards Jaelynn.

"Please!" he said, though that didn't stop the instinct for Tristan to grasp his sword. The scout observed the man's face. He was panicked.

"What is it?" Jaelynn asked. She stood tensely, as if she didn't entire know what to make of this.

"My wife," he said, "she just fell. She isn't moving, and I don't know why!" He started to back towards the way he'd come, and waved his hand for her to follow. Jaelynn glanced at Tristan. He nodded, and both followed the man.

"What is her name?" Jaelynn asked as they entered a simple home. The wife lay on the floor by the hearth.

"Melinda," he said. "I am Donton." Jaelynn nodded, and knelt by Melinda's side. She started to look over the prone woman, and Tristan found himself standing off to the side. Melinda was young, probably just five or so years older than Jaelynn.

He wasn't sure what was wrong with the woman, but judging from Jaelynn's face, it wasn't good. He'd seen this look before, when Nasica was dying. But Jaelynn tended to the woman, with Donton anxiously hovering close.

"I need something from my pack," Jaelynn said some time later. Tristan stood to get it for her, but Jaelynn headed for the door as well. "Keep her warm. I will be back." Donton nodded.

Her eyes flickered to Tristan, and he saw a sigh escape her lips. He followed her outside. Glancing at her posture, the concern and tension throughout her frame, Tristan fell in step with her.

"What's wrong?" he mumbled. He heard her draw a breath.

"Her heart beats very weakly," she said, keeping her voice quiet. Other villagers were out and must have known that Jaelynn was attending to the woman. They eyed the pair curiously. Jaelynn kept her head low, as if she did not want to be seen.

"Why?" Tristan asked. Jaelynn shook her head. They reached their horses, and Jaelynn dug into her pack for a small bundle. She stared at it. Her eyes looked haunted.

"I think she fainted," Jaelynn said. "It's something inside of her." She didn't have to add that she wasn't sure what.

"Can you do anything?"

Her eyes flickered to the bundle in hand. They started back to Melinda and Donton's home. Jaelynn didn't answer Tristan's question.

_So much for a quick stop._ Jaelynn spent the rest of the day watching over Melinda. In the evening, the woman seemed so near death and barely breathing that Jaelynn finally opened the small bundle she'd retrieved from her things. Tristan found himself stepping forward to see what was in it.

The fire in the hearth shone on the metal instruments inside. He glanced at Donton, who just seemed confused by everything. But Tristan knew what those instruments were. He'd felt them on his skin and in his body before. _No wonder she delayed in bringing them out. _Jaelynn sighed to herself, and stared directly at Donton.

"I do not know exactly what is wrong," she said. "I can try something, but . . ." She looked down. Tristan saw a shudder run through her body before she looked up. "It may not work."

Maybe he was getting the message. Grief overshadowed the panic in Donton, but he nodded.

"Please. Anything you can do . . ." His voice broke. Donton looked at his wife while tears filled his eyes. "Please," he whispered.

Jaelynn nodded, and turned to the set of tools in the bundle. Tristan neared Donton and laid a hand on his shoulder. The man looked surprised, as if he hadn't really noticed the scout yet.

"You should wait outside," Tristan said quietly. This wasn't something a husband should see. Donton glanced to Jaelynn, then his wife. His gaze lingered there, until he nodded and wearily left the house.

Tristan watched the man leave and shut the door. When he turned around, he saw Jaelynn staring at him.

"Thank you," she said softly. He nodded, and knelt by her.

"What do you need?"

Jaelynn ran her hands through her hair. She twisted it into a rope and then knotted it so it wouldn't get in her way. Tristan wasn't sure what she was doing, but she gently felt the woman's neck, then her arms, and finally her legs. She frowned.

"Her calf is swelling," she said, pulling the woman's skirt high enough for Tristan to see. She lifted the leg and glanced at it from all sides. "I read that sometimes the blood flow stops in certain parts of the body."

She moved back to the woman's neck and felt the side of it.

"Her heart beats quickly, but it's very faint still," she explained, though Tristan still didn't know what that meant overall. She withdrew a small knife from the tools, and moved to the leg. She squared her shoulders and took another deep breath. "I need you to have cloths ready for the bleeding."

_She's going to cut the woman._ Tristan swallowed, and his throat rubbed uncomfortably. He grabbed some cloths Donton had retrieved, and sat by Jaelynn's side.

Jaelynn poised the knife above the woman's calf, where the swelling was, and then paused.

"Tristan," she said. He looked to her, and brushed his messy bangs away from his eyes. She opened her mouth to say something. But she didn't utter anything more.

-0-0-

It was nearing midnight when the woman died. An hour before, Jaelynn put away her knife and supplies. She bandaged the woman's leg, and just waited.

Tristan saw the nervousness and fear in her eyes. Somehow it reminded him of how she'd been in the sea cave. Donton came back in, and held his wife's hand. Jaelynn couldn't say anything to him, but Tristan figured that said enough to the man as it was.

When she died, Donton's cries made Jaelynn wince. She whispered her condolences and left the house. Villagers entered in after her, and Tristan left them to comfort the husband.

He found Jaelynn and some village leader speaking outside.

". . . helping her," Tristan heard the leader say. "We were fortunate you were here. We were fortunate you could tend to her."

Jaelynn's voice came out as a hollow whisper. "I'm sorry I couldn't save her."

The leader laid a calming hand on her shoulder, and shook his head. "Please, do not blame yourself. You should rest. We have a bed prepared for you."

Tristan walked up to them and stood by Jaelynn's side. She did not say anything, and Tristan knew why. He shook his head.

"Thank you," he said, which felt unnatural to him, "but we leave immediately." From the corner of his eye, he saw Jaelynn glance suddenly at him, but she didn't object.

"Perhaps some food for your journey then," the leader replied. Tristan nodded, and the leader went to gather food.

Jaelynn was silent as they rode away into the night. Tristan debated about stopping somewhere to make camp, but he wanted to be far enough away from the village. His hawk was sleepily perched on his arm, and he wondered if that was a sign to stop too. But his instincts told him to keep going. Distance.

It was windy. The trees swayed back and forth with a roar in their branches. The restlestness of it spurred Tristan on, with a glance to his side to make sure Jaelynn was all right.

She was awake. Her eyes were open, and she sat unmoving in the saddle. She looked numb. A sad frown pulled at her mouth, and her eyes appeared unseeing. In the patchy moonlight, Tristan saw tears unshed in her eyes.

"It's not your fault," he said. His voice rasped slightly from the late hour. Jaelynn slowly turned her head towards him. "You helped her the best you could."

She nodded along, but Tristan sensed she did not believe a word he'd said. The sound of the wind and their horses' hooves came back to his ears, and it was as if he'd said nothing at all. A few minutes later, he tried again.

"You did well."

He heard her scoff at that. Tristan pulled up sharply on the reins, and faced her in his saddle.

"I didn't know how to help her," she said, her voice bitter and quiet. Tristan nudged his horse towards hers to hear her above the winds. "Melinda died because I wasn't prepared."

She turned her horse to go around his, but Tristan blocked her path.

"You can't stop every death," he said.

"You're right," she said. "But Melinda wasn't supposed to die. Hilden could have saved her."

He thought about that. Yes, maybe Hilden could have done more, or differently. But the facts were that Hilden was not there, and neither was the normal village healer. Jaelynn was the woman's only hope. And she did all she could.

He jumped down from his horse, and held hers by the reins.

"Come," he said. "We'll camp here." She dismounted slowly with no energy to her movements. He led the horses and tied them to some branches. He didn't bother with a fire, but he grabbed the food the village leader had given them and sat next to Jaelynn. She sat stiffly against a tree, with her cloak wrapped tightly around her.

Tristan opened up the package of food, and broke off a piece of bread for her. He watched her chew it as if it were pure salt. He sighed.

"I don't understand medicine," Tristan said. "I only know if I think someone will live or die."

She had a curious look on her face, but she kept eating her food.

"When Nasica was wounded—" He saw her stiffen at the name; at least he had her attention. "I knew she would die. I didn't want it, but when you woke me . . . I wasn't surprised."

He felt like he was talking a lot and not making sense, and it frustrated Tristan. He didn't know how to tell her what he meant. Maybe he did know what he meant, but he couldn't portray it succinctly.

"It was the same with Melinda," he said. "Her husband knew it too."

She was looking at him now. Her eyes searched his face, and he wondered if she thought he was making things up to comfort her. He smiled softly, hoping she would smile back.

She didn't, but reached for some meat that the village leader included in the package.

"Thank you," she said before eating the meat.

They ate the rest of the meal, even though it was far too late to really think about food. Tristan leaned against the tree next to Jaelynn's. He kept watching her. He worried that she would torture herself about Melinda's death, even with as little control she had over it.

He waited for her to fall asleep, but Jaelynn stayed awake. It would be dawn in a couple of hours. Tristan was used to little or no sleep, but Jaelynn he knew was not. Finally, Tristan stood, but she barely acknowledged it. He pulled off his cloak and sat next to her.

Her eyes glanced at him, wondering what he was doing, but she did nothing more. Tristan moved and knelt in front of her. He grasped her arm and pulled her towards him, enough to get her away from the tree. She didn't resist. Tristan took her place against the tree, and pulled her back so she leaned against him now. With the cloak, he covered them both.

He thought maybe she would be tense or uncomfortable with the situation. He thought he might be, but it felt good to him. He sensed, though, that for Jaelynn she was still too numb to really care either way.

He wrapped his arms around her, sighing as he did so. After a few minutes, she let her head rest against his shoulder, and he felt her hair tickle his neck.

He ended up falling asleep, more comfortable and content than he ever remembered.

-0-0-

In retrospect, it was kind of Tristan to look out for her. His actions were very . . . brotherly. She imagined Gawain would have done the same. Although, she didn't feel anything beyond a brotherly or familial love for Gawain, whereas with Tristan, she did.

Still.

It made her feel awkward as they rode through the next day. She kept wishing that his actions, looking out for her and holding her through the night, meant something beyond his basic concern for her well-being.

It also bothered her that she had such need for care. It rubbed her as charity. Pity. All because she hadn't been able to help an ill woman.

In her mind, she knew she couldn't blame herself for Melinda's death. But she kept thinking about Donton, and how he would be alone for some time, maybe his whole life, because Jaelynn couldn't stop an illness from claiming his wife.

"We should be at the Wall in four days," Tristan said suddenly. Jaelynn cleared her mind enough to nod at his words. He had said a lot lately. It was odd really, but she found that she liked it. She liked that he spoke to her, even though it was purely out of friendship. _Maybe that is enough._

_For him, though. Not for me._ A pain seized her heart. Jaelynn tried to shake it away and focus her thoughts and feelings away from Tristan. _Things will settle down when you get back to the Wall. Life will go on, and you only have to see him if you choose._ She could become very busy, with Hilden's help.

They journeyed till nighttime, and after eating a small animal Tristan shot, he drew his sword.

"Let's practice," he said. She raised an eyebrow.

"It's dark," she pointed out. He nodded.

"Not all fights happen with light." He turned and started swinging his sword, probably to loosen his muscles. He stood, ready and waiting for her.

Jaelynn sighed.

"Not now, Tristan," she said. She felt guilty about it because he was trying to make her feel better or distract her. But she had no conscience to abandon her guilt right now. He sighed and she heard the distinct sound of his sword being put back in its scabbard.

He sat next to her.

"You still think you could have done more," he observed. _Yes,_ she thought. She couldn't stop thinking that if she knew more about healing, had asked Hilden better questions, had just thought about another solution that might have done better, maybe Melinda would be alive and her husband Donton would not be grieving.

She turned to him. "Don't you ever blame yourself?" She knew the answer was 'yes.' Tristan leaned back with a sigh on his lips, and stared at the dark sky.

"Yes," he said as she thought he would. She nodded, and the two fell into silence for a minute.

"I have a lot to blame myself for," he said. His eyes were still cast upwards. Jaelynn figured he was thinking of Rome.

"From what I've heard, Tristan," she started, "you had to do what others wanted in Rome." He shrugged.

"I assassinated 48 men," he said. Jaelynn almost jumped, jolted by the number. "I killed a few more that deserved it."

"But it was some bishop that took you, wasn't it?" she asked. She'd heard it from various knights and Vanora. "You had to do what he wanted, or you'd die."

Again, the scout shrugged. "It's not just Rome. A village was slaughtered because of me," he said, and Jaelynn figured that was about the marauders. "A boy's father is dead, and hundreds more because I was a knight for Rome."

_Wait_, she thought. She hadn't meant to drudge up his past.

"Tristan," she started—

"You have nothing to blame yourself for," he said. The guilt came back to her; how could she have been acting this way when Tristan had definitely suffered more?

"Neither do you," she said, and somewhere back in her mind she vaguely realized he had managed to divert her blame. He looked to her, his eyes curious at her words. She shrugged. "_No one_ blames you."

The right side of his mouth quirked up.

"You don't listen to the town gossip, do you?"

_Oh._ He was right; she had heard a lot of gossip about Tristan. Was he saying the townspeople still talked about him?_ But they can't blame him, can they?_

"Is that why you stay away?" she asked.

He shrugged again, which to her meant 'yes.' Jaelynn sighed. She tilted her head back and stared at the sky.

"I don't blame you," she said resolutely.

"I don't blame _you_," she heard Tristan say back. She glanced at him, and saw a slight smile on his face. Reluctantly, she smiled back.

"Fine," she said. "I won't blame myself then." He started to nod. "If you won't either."

The remnants of the smile disappeared from his mouth.

"It's only fair," she added. She wondered if he'd agree. When he nodded, she also wondered if he would really try. He stood up then, and grabbed her bedding and his.

"Rest," he said, as he did every night. "We'll train in the morning."


	25. The Return

a/n: Thanks to witheredlovr for your kind comments, and to everyone else for your encouraging reviews! Special thanks to Josje for her guidance as I near the ending—your thoughts helped a great deal! Sorry, everyone, about the delay in posting this chapter. I'll make up for it by posting again in the next 48 hours. :o)

**The** **Return**

The air felt slightly warmer than it should have this time of year. A dull mist swirled on the light wind, and a few miles ahead was Hadrian's Wall. The journey was almost over.

"Are you eager to get back?" Jaelynn asked, riding along side of him. Tristan glanced at her. She looked tired, but the light was back in her eyes. She was quiet for a good while, but since speaking about Melinda's death, it seemed to have soothed Jaelynn. Tristan half-envied that she could come to terms with her guilt so quickly.

"Doesn't matter to me, either way," he answered. It probably wasn't the answer she was looking for. Tristan didn't mean to put a damper on the last part of their journey. But he thought, in some ways, it was nicer being out, traveling, and with Jaelynn.

Not that he would actually say that.

"What about you?" he asked.

Jaelynn shrugged with a smile. "I'm looking forward to my room, my bed, and not moving for awhile. Part of me wishes, though, that I could travel more." She gazed over the land. "I can see why you like it."

Tristan raised one eyebrow while a smirk tugged at his lips. "And why's that?"

Again she shrugged. "You like the solitude, I know. Being out here, surrounded by the land . . . it's peaceful. Plenty of time to think."

_Think._ Yes, he did that a lot.

"Sometimes it's a curse," he said. She looked to him sharply. Maybe he shouldn't have admitted that—

"What do you mean?"

He chose not to answer, but he knew exactly what he meant. Being alone allowed all the thoughts and doubts to emerge. Memories, mostly bad in his case, and guilt over his many kills; speculation about what the knights and Arthur thought of him, or would think of him if they really knew all he'd done. It was one thing to know that Tristan had killed many people. It was another to really understand that he murdered, concealed his actions, and framed others. For all his offenses, his time in Rome haunted him the most.

He'd come to terms about Decia Quintas, and how his subtle plot of revenge on her had backfired and taken with it the lives of an innocent village. He'd come to terms about Morlo's father, and frankly wasn't going to let it haunt him when he'd done his duty alongside Arthur, Gawain, Galahad, Bors, Lancelot, Dagonet and several other knights he held in high regard.

But Rome bothered him too much. He knew he'd agreed not to blame himself, but there was no one else left but him.

"I think I will miss how simple life is, traveling," Jaelynn said. Thankfully, she'd ignored his silence. "Your whole goal is to get to the next destination, or to wander the roads. Everything else is just enjoyment. Well, maybe not setting up camp or building a fire every night, or hunting when game is scarce, but like . . ." She frowned. Tristan smiled; her frown was actually pretty. "Like when we were at the waterfall. Finding something so beautiful, and just basking in it." She shrugged again.

Tristan cleared his throat before he could think about the waterfall too much.

"What was your favorite part of the trip?" he asked her. Almost immediately she opened her mouth, but something held her back. She shut her mouth, and after another moment said:

"The waterfall," she said. Tristan studied her face. Her eyes were dim, and she tried too hard to seem nonchalant.

He nodded anyway and ignored the lie. He wondered what she really thought was the best part of the trip. But he wasn't about to push her on it.

-0-0-

Gawain tried to ignore Lucinda's singing. She was a beautiful woman, and he loved her dearly, but the woman couldn't sing to make a grown Saxon stop crying. She sang loudly within their modest home, and the only comfort it gave Gawain was that the walls contained some of the sound.

To compensate for it, he smelt fresh bread. Sure, Lucinda couldn't sing, but the woman could cook! Gawain patted his stomach, which was a little more fatty than it used to be. _I'm getting soft_.

Maybe it wasn't a bad thing.

The long-haired knight turned back to his task; he'd been fixing some holes in his armor, which was ill-used lately, but there was always another battle, and he wanted his armor to be in the best condition.

His eyes felt dry as he stared intently at the hole he strived to fix.

Suddenly, he heard horses approaching, and a familiar, light laughter.

Glancing up, he saw Jaelynn, grinning at Tristan. The scout was smiling too. Gawain dropped his armor and stood. The pair galloped by without seeing him. Not many people could make the scout smile. Gawain grinned to himself. Maybe his and Galahad's scheming—vouching that Tristan go with Jaelynn on her trip—had paid off.

-0-0-

Jols took care of the horses, and Jaleynn was surprised that Tristan left the stables when she did. They walked through the town, side by side. Despite the smile she placed on her face, Jaelynn's mind was in despair.

Tristan had been so kind to her of late, but it continued to magnify the feelings she tried to remove for him. Nothing would ever happen between them; he verified that. And yet, she only felt more and more sure that he was the one man she truly cared for.

Everything on their trip had just reinforced that. Each moment they spent together, training, or just riding, talking, sitting side by side silently—it all was precious to her. When Tristan had asked what was her favorite part of the journey, her first instinct was to say it was him.

But she couldn't say that. It would only bring back the awkward uncomfortable silences between them. She didn't want that to happen. Even though she had told him to act as her guard and stay away from her, Tristan had been there when she needed him. They had come back together as friends, and she didn't want to lose that.

They were in the residence area when Arthur came across them.

"Tristan. Jaelynn," he said, nodding. "Welcome back. I trust your journey was safe?"

Judging by the suspicious but friendly look on the king's face, Arthur was doubtful of the safety of their journey. But he dropped it when Tristan just grunted.

"Tristan, do you have a moment?"

Dutifully, he nodded. As he turned to walk with Arthur, Tristan glanced back at her. He shot her a grin, and Jaelynn smiled.

_And what does that mean?_ She sighed, and went to her room. She wanted to rest before reporting to Hilden.

-0-0-

"Thank you for escorting Jaelynn through the land," Arthur said. They walked steadily, their footsteps echoing on the stone floor in the halls. Arthur turned and led the way out to the town.

"No problem," the scout said. Arthur wanted to smile. He missed Tristan and his emotionless answers.

"I actually have something," Arthur said. "Another trip." He hated for Tristan to even consider this, but the scout did like to travel, and he figured he might want to go on a scouting mission by himself. "There's need on a shorter route to the southern seas."

He was going to say more, but Tristan bore an odd expression on his face. His eyes were downcast, and he pursed his lips—something Arthur didn't think he'd ever seen before.

"Is there someone else who can go?" the scout asked. Arthur stopped abruptly. Did he hear correctly? Arthur smiled.

"Of course," he said. "You need some rest, anyway."

"Thank you," Tristan said. The men stood there, and Arthur felt awkward and a bit giddy at this change in Tristan. He wondered what made the scout want to stay. He was happy though—maybe Tristan was finally over isolating himself.

"I saw the scout come back."

Arthur turned his head to the sound of this voice, which came from around the corner where they'd stopped.

"You mean the assassin," came another voice. Arthur froze. "It's safer here without him. When will the king see what that scout is, and punish him?"

His stomach hardened. Arthur almost felt ill, but for the anger seething within him. He glanced at Tristan, expecting to see the same anger. But Tristan stood still, eyeing the ground with the slightest of smiles on his face. There was sadness to how he looked.

"I wish he'd just stay away. Maybe he won't come back one day."

Arthur could stand it no more. He rounded the corner, even though he heard Tristan whisper at him to stop. He would not.

The gossiping culprits were two women, the smithy's wife and another woman Arthur had seen around Guinevere. The two women gaped at the king. Arthur freely showed his displeasure.

"Ladies," he said coldly. "I believe you owe an apology."

Quickly, they piped up.

"We're so sorry, my lord—" started the smithy's wife. Arthur stopped her with one look.

"Not me," he said. He turned back to his knight, still hidden behind the corner. "Tristan."

The women gasped as the scout came into their view. Their faces paled, but Arthur wanted them to understand something beyond the feeling of one's foot in their mouth.

"This man has served me faithfully since I've known him," Arthur said. He thought of how dedicated Tristan was, even as a new knight fresh in Rome's service. "He has put his life on the line more times than I care to remember, to save me and this entire land."

The women bowed their heads. It was guilt, not respect. Arthur kept going, ignoring the normal dictation for diplomacy with his own people.

"I suggest you consider your words carefully before speaking," he said, "especially when you know nothing, not even your own ignorance. Tristan is a great man, a dear friend and a brother in arms. _That_ you can spread to your gossiping kind."

The smithy's wife nodded numbly, and the other woman still hadn't found the courage to look him or Tristan in the eye.

"Arthur," Tristan said. The scout moved to continue on, and Arthur nodded.

"Do not forget," Arthur said, jabbing a finger in the gossipers' direction.

The men walked in silence, though Arthur didn't know where. His mind was still running with thoughts and reprimands. How ungrateful people could be! It ashamed him that it was his own people, people he had risked his life and the lives of his knights to save.

"Tristan," he started. But Arthur didn't know what to say. He stumbled before a coherent sentence came from his mouth. "They had no right to say those things. I'm sorry they said it."

Tristan stopped. The men were near the smithy, of all places, but for no reason than that's where they ended up.

"I'm used to it," the scout said simply. Arthur felt his heart ache with the ramifications.

"They have said things before," he deduced aloud. Tristan shrugged. "You deserve more. You deserve their respect." He shook his head morosely. "I only wish I could do something that would help you find happiness."

To this Tristan smiled. He laughed, though it came as just a rush of breath. Arthur frowned.

"You worry too much," he said. "Galahad was right."

_Galahad?_

"What do you mean?"

Tristan hesitated before he explained himself.

"He said you saved Gawain, at Badon Hill." Again, he shrugged. "You thought you should have saved me too."

Arthur didn't know what to say. He didn't think Galahad would ever speak of that, but he didn't fault him for it. It was the truth. He felt surprised now though and stood dumbly, wondering what Tristan was getting at.

"Way I figure it, maybe things would be different," Tristan continued. Arthur felt the weight of responsibility indent itself more on his shoulders. "But would I be better off?"

He shrugged as if that answered his own question, and then clapped Arthur on the shoulder. He walked away, and Arthur just stared after him. That responsibility lifted a bit, and not just because of Rome.

Ahead of him, Tristan glanced up at the sky, where his hawk was chasing a sparrow. Arthur smiled. He understood what Tristan was trying to say. He wasn't responsible for Tristan, even though he took that role upon himself. But that didn't change that Arthur wanted to do something for his friend.

An idea started to take shape in his mind.

-0-0-

She heard Vanora's laughter before she set foot into Lucinda's home. Jaelynn smiled to herself, and entered the dwelling.

"Jaelynn!" both women greeted. She had barely been home for two days, and Vanora was "dying" to find how the journey had been. The older women were actively stirring a thick paste. They were determined to teach Jaelynn a more important womanly art—cooking.

"You're just in time," Vanora said. "The dough's almost ready."

Jaelynn grinned crookedly and wondered what she'd gotten herself into. Lucinda set a bowl before her, and then dumped its heavy and thick contents on the table.

"Sprinkle some of this on the table first," Lucinda said, tossing some white powder on the tabletop. She began to work the dough with her hands. Jaelynn put her hands to the dough as well.

"So, how was the journey?" Vanora asked cheerily. "You look thinner, girl. Did you not eat?" Jaelynn fought the urge to frown.

"I've been training," she said. "The trip was fine. It was good to see the countryside." She missed the skeptical looks between Vanora and Lucinda.

"Really," Vanora commented dryly.

Lucinda stopped working the dough, and leaned close to Jaelynn so her round face was directly in front of Jaelynn's.

"And Tristan?"

Dread flooded Jaelynn. But the women smiled at her, not in jest, but encouragingly.

She relented with a slight smile.

"He was fine," she said. Vanora sighed loudly.

"Girl, you spent weeks with the man, and probably know him better than any of us," she said. "Do you still care for him?"

Jaelynn groaned. She leaned her head on her hands, not realizing the powder and dough that caked over her fingers.

"I don't know," she muttered. Lucinda giggled, and she looked up. _The dough, you dolt!_ Vanora smiled but didn't laugh aloud. She grabbed a cloth and wiped at Jaelynn's face. It made Jaelynn feel like she was twelve years old again.

"I think that's a 'yes,'" Vanora said. Jaelynn nodded miserably.

"I want to be over him," she said. "I was determined that I was. But being with him . . ."

Lucinda shot Vanora a look.

"He was very kind," Jaelynn said. "And it probably means nothing, but that just makes it so . . . "

"Confusing," Lucinda filled in. Jaelynn nodded. Vanora smiled.

"You think he's unchanged then?" the red-head asked. Jaelynn wondered if everyone thought that Tristan never cared for her. _I should never have asked him then._ But that was past, and she couldn't change it.

Jaelynn let her head drop on her hands again, instantly noticing the dough this time. But she didn't care.

"I don't know," she mumbled. The women laughed, and patted her on the back.

"Come on, Jaelynn," Lucinda said, "we'll teach you how to make food that even a man like Tristan can't resist."

Jaelynn ventured a look up.

"You think I shouldn't give up?" Was she just imagining that? Since when did anyone actually take her feelings for the scout seriously? Well, somewhat seriously. Vanora smiled that sweet motherly smile that made Jaelynn want to sigh and be held like a little girl.

"We think you should be happy, no matter what," she said. She shot a glance to Lucinda. "But cooking never hurts, no matter who the man may be."

Lucinda laughed, and started on the dough again. Jaelynn straightened up and dug in as well.

Strangely, she felt happier.

-0-0-

Tristan leapt back, dodging the swipe Gawain made for his midsection. Quickly, he brought his sword up, meeting Gawain's weapon, and then swinging at the long-haired knight's neck.

Gawain ducked, grinned, and launched back at him.

They'd been going like this for twenty minutes, and Tristan had to admit his muscles felt good. Sweat dripped down his side, and he'd already shed his armor and leather jerkin. Ordinarily, that wasn't smart, but in sparring Tristan didn't care. Winter felt like it was on its way out.

Gawain growled, which made Tristan smirk, and then he spun around with his weapon pointed like a dagger. Tristan held his sword like a cross and pushed out against Gawain's blade.

"Hey, some of us would like to train some time today!"

Tristan knew it was Jaelynn, and found himself glancing her way before he could stop himself. Gawain took advantage of that. He shoved his shoulder into Tristan's chest, and both men fell to the ground. The air in his lungs left him when he hit the dirt, especially when Gawain landed on top of him.

Gawain laughed heartily.

"Ah, good fight," he said. Tristan rolled his eyes and shoved the knight off.

Tristan got to his feet, and picked up his sword. He nodded for Jaelynn to come. She looked him over skeptically. _What?_ He swiped at his brow.

"You sure you can take more?"

He glared at her.

Galahad suddenly appeared near the training yard. "What's going on?"

Before either he or Gawain (who thankfully was out of breath) could answer, Jaelynn spoke up.

"Do you want to spar?" she asked the young knight.

Tristan grinned. Galahad smirked at her, but Tristan already had his mind on Jaelynn.

Or rather, that she would win.

The two started by circling cautiously. Tristan stood to the side, by Gawain, watching proudly. He waited for when Jaelynn would act.

"That's a nice sword she has," Gawain commented. Tristan felt heat rise to his face, but he kept himself in check.

"She has no need for a wooden sword anymore."

Gawain raised an eyebrow. "That's not what I meant."

"I had no more use for it," Tristan said with a shrug.

Gawain chuckled, and Tristan had to fight not to face him or hit him.

Galahad made the first move against Jaelynn, raising his sword, and Jaelynn stepped towards him, throwing the distance of his attack off-balance. She blocked the remnants of his attack, then thrust the long, curved sword just inches from his stomach.

Galahad's eyes were wide. It made Tristan laugh. He noticed Gawain raising an eyebrow at it all, but then Gawain didn't know how Jaelynn had improved.

"I didn't teach her that," Gawain said.

Tristan nodded. "I did."

She whirled around from an angry retaliatory assault. Galahad looked flustered, but he renewed his efforts—fully. He wasn't being nice or easy for Jaelynn. Then again, Jaelynn didn't need it. Her eyes were alight, and Tristan couldn't erase the smile on his face. He missed that Gawain noticed it.

Galahad suddenly had Jaelynn in a spot. Tristan leaned forward intently. Jaelynn was on her knees, with Galahad grinning like he'd won. Jaelynn wore a frown, but there still was that mischievious gleam in her eyes. She thrust her sword again at Galahad, and Tristan winced. Her wrists buckled weakly, and Galahad easily swatted the long sword from her hands.

She gasped, while Galahad moved his sword to her throat. Tristan stood straight. He didn't like that he had the sword to her throat, even if they were just sparring. But Galahad dropped it.

"You've improved!" the youngest knight exclaimed. Jaelynn shrugged sheepishly. Gawain went to her side.

"He's right," he declared. "You've been practicing." Jaelynn smiled, and turned around. She faced Tristan.

He didn't know what to do, but he was very aware of the knights around him. He nodded at Jaelynn.

"Good," he said sparsely.

She cast her eyes downward and then back at him.

"Thank you."

As she walked past him, Tristan sighed. He wished they were traveling again, alone.


	26. Never Letting Go

a/n: Just remember, two steps forward, one step back. Don't kill me. :o) And thanks for your awesome reviews! Thanks continue on to Josje for her help! And sorry everyone, this only ended up being 13 pages in Word. ;o)

**Never Letting Go**

Tristan walked through the halls, back towards his room. He was tired, and looked forward to a night's sleep. He walked quietly, trying to think of nothing but his bed. He wasn't far from his room when he heard voices.

Instinctively, he stopped and pressed himself against the wall.

"I wanted to apologize," came a female's voice. It sounded familiar to him. "I did not mean any disrespect the other day."

"Yes you did." _Arthur._ Which meant the woman, judging by the conversation, was one of the gossipers. Tristan almost groaned. He just wanted to get to his room.

"Yes, my lord," the woman said. "But you must understand how he frightens the people. Everyone knows what he is." Tristan shut his eyes with a silent sigh.

"_What_ he is?" Arthur's voice rose. "You speak as if he is an animal or object. He is a _knight_, a _man_ loyal to me and to Britain."

The woman was silent briefly.

"Do you not fear him?"

"There is no need," Arthur said. "He is a brother to me. And if you knew all he has suffered for you and all Britons, you would feel how hollow your words sound now."

"Will you tell me, my lord?" she asked meekly. Tristan rolled his eyes.

"No." Arthur must have seen through her words too. "For you will twist my words and spread it as damnation against Tristan." His footsteps moved towards Tristan. Tristan slid back down the hall to a shadowed corner. "You are no longer welcome near Guinevere. Know that I will advise her to quit your acquaintance all together."

The woman uttered some pathetic sound, and Tristan heard her footsteps flee the other way. Arthur sighed and continued down the hall. Tristan hid himself further in the shadows until Arthur was gone.

He moved on to his room. His motions were automatic. Shedding his shirt, his boots, his weapons, and falling onto his bed. He sighed. What he'd heard was the last thing he wanted in his mind now. He couldn't rid himself of the woman's words. It brought back what she and the smithy's wife had said before.

_Assassin._

_Punish him._

He put his hands over his eyes, willing the words to stop popping up in his mind. _Just sleep._

He turned on his stomach and tried to sleep. It must have worked . . . but he dreamt a familiar dream.

_The battle. Tristan crossed the field, his sword firm in his hands and his eyes zeroed in on his next opponent. Perhaps this one would be a challenge. The Saxon king._

_They fought. The Saxon king's blade sliced under his right shoulder. Stunned, Tristan felt the blood there. He held up his sword and tried again._

_Another cut, across his forearm. His sword fell from his hands. The Saxon king looked bored, but he kicked the sword back to him. Something warned Tristan that he wouldn't survive this if he continued. But honor made him pick up the sword and finish the fight._

_The Saxon king had a short blade that he thrust into Tristan's arm. The scout found himself on the ground, crawling away for some space. But the king grabbed him by his hair, forcing him up. As a last effort, Tristan pulled the blade out of his arm, and stabbed it in the Saxon's thigh._

_A sharp cut sliced his left arm, and suddenly he felt the stab of a long sword, through his body. Fire spread from the entry wound in his left side, and inside him. He felt the blood leaving his body, filling up his lungs too. It was how the battle should have gone, instead of being taken to Rome._

_He could see Arthur, recognizing his scout on the end of the Saxon's sword. And then, with terribly agonizing pain, the blade was pulled roughly from his body. The Saxon turned before him and slashed the sword across Tristan's body._

_He fell._

_And though things went dark in his mind, he heard the voices around him. Arthur. Crying out that two knights were slain. _Two?

Lancelot._ And Tristan was the other._

_He felt constricted, like he was wrapped in something. _For burial._ He wanted to move, to be free of it, but of course his limbs weren't working. Then there was something falling on him. Clumps of it. Dirt._

_He felt it compact down on him, and knew he'd been buried. The darkness, the tight confines of the grave, the sound of people visiting him above ground._

_Suddenly, he was in Rome. He was in the fine room Germanius had given him for his service. He returned from an assassination. In his hands was the bloody dagger, and blood covered his hands and forearms too. He went to drop the dagger in some water, but stopped. _

_The water's reflection showed Tristan with the knife in hand. His hands shook, but he stilled himself. His eyes favored the dagger. And one thought came to his mind: _Stop yourself now.

_He didn't clean off the dagger. He put the blade's tip to his chest, over the beating of his heart. He drew a deep breath—his last—and with as much strength as he could muster, plunged the dagger into his own heart._

Tristan sat up soundlessly in his bed. His hand went to the hole he'd felt in his chest moments earlier, but no blood poured from the dreamt wound. He shut his eyes and let out a long sigh.

He remembered thinking about ending his life more than once. On his way to Rome, he'd almost drowned in the sea happily. It was cowardly in so many ways. Yet how many good people would be alive now if he had done it?

He threw on his shirt and boots, and left his room. The torches in the hallways flickered and out in the open air, the sky was blacker than Germanius' heart. Tristan let himself walk to the open field that sloped up towards the treeline. The sad, little cemetery . . .

Lancelot's grave was covered by grass, but it didn't bear the normal lump of a body beneath. _He was burned._ Tristan vaguely recalled that Lancelot wanted it that way. Tristan only came to the cemetery once or twice in the last couple of years.

The scout sat by the twin swords that marked the grave. The nightly wind whipped the grass around the swords. Tristan touched the blades, and he knew that they were cold, but he felt nothing, not even the wind rushing through his thin shirt and pants.

"Sorry I haven't visited more," he mumbled to the grave. He didn't imagine Lancelot cared too much. Tristan sat with his back barely touching the swords and propped his knees up and his forearms on top of them.

He thought about his dream. Why couldn't it have happened that way? Why couldn't he have died in battle? He would be buried next to Lancelot and amidst the bodies of the other fallen knights . . .

_Fallen._

They fell honorably. He did not. He fell in dishonor, and was still alive to feel the consequences.

Why didn't he end it, even in Rome? _Coward._ He cringed at the idea still but it was better—or was it running away from the problem?

_You should have found your way out sooner. _He did in the end, but only after wallowing in the monotony and self-pity of his predicament.

Tristan roughly ran his hands through his hair, bowing his head to the earth as he did so. When would this end? Hadn't he paid enough for his actions? He'd served a good man, Arthur, and saved Vanora and Jaelynn. He'd even saved Jaelynn as a girl. _But not her father._

He clenched his eyes shut. _Stop._ How much more torture would he have to survive to move on with life? How many more reminders and judging words be thrown his way for his—dare he say it—sins?

When, he wondered, would his own mind stop haunting him?

_Think of something else._

_Jaelynn._ She was the only light he had in his life. _And she still loves you._

_No, she doesn't.__Not the way you took forever to realize you wanted._

He wasn't sure, though. His certainty seemed to come and go. He thought about the waterfall, how close he'd been to her. How close she came to him. Holding her during the night after that villager's death . . . how peaceful he'd felt. And she hadn't shown any disagreement about his actions then.

_She told you how she felt. Why not do the same?_

He scraped the heel of his boot harshly against the grass. He could never just say something like she did. He didn't have the words, the suave nature to pull it off. For the only time in his life, he envied Lancelot for his way with women. Just a hair of his charm might help the scout now.

What could he do? Tristan tried to ignore his wish for his death a few years ago, and instead tried to consider what to do about Jaelynn.

The sky started its morning ritual as it turned to fiery orange and pink hues. It was then that Tristan, covered in frosty dew and numb to the bone, decided to go back to his room and give sleep another try.

-0-0-

Duty called. Jaelynn had no problem with being needed to fulfill her healer duties, as well as to learn more, but there was something she missed in traveling. Traveling was simpler, with the time her own to command.

_Stop complaining._ She finished tidying the herbs and medicines, then the bandages. There was a young boy with a broken leg, and she almost lost her breakfast when she heard the boy's bone set. Luckily, she didn't have to do that yet. She feared she would vomit all over her patient.

"Bored?"

She looked up from her work. Hilden grinned as if he knew more than she.

"It's okay, you know," he said. Jaelynn smiled; she'd been caught. "I get tired of this too. It's why I prefer going to the patient's home sometimes."

"I'm glad I'm not the only one," she said. Hilden chuckled and handed the boy with the broken leg a numbing drink. The boy drank slowly, making a face as he swallowed it.

"Why don't you go?" Hilden suggested. "His mother will be back soon, and you've finished everything else for now."

Jaelynn started to protest, but the healer cut her off.

"Go, Jaelynn. Come back in a couple of hours."

And so she let herself wander to the market. She had no problem taking a break, but she felt that Hilden did so much sometimes and she always wanted to help and learn. But, she didn't have to be told three times to go enjoy herself.

The market held two things she sought, though she hadn't found them yet. She needed some ingredient for something Vanora taught her to make. Lucinda said she could come and bake at her home when she was ready. And if it turned out any good, maybe she'd offer some to the knights.

The other thing was a comb for her hair. She saw one before her journey, one that had green vines and purple flowers painted on it, just above the teeth. It wasn't necessary, but she wanted something pretty for her appearance.

The ingredient was easy to find. She paid for it and turned to another part of the market—and then she saw Tristan.

He was leaning against the doorway, looking as if the sunlight bothered him. _Did he just wake up?_ It was after noon! He coughed, and from where she stood across the marketplace, she could hear the garbled sound. She abandoned the comb for now, and went to him.

As she neared him, Tristan sneezed. Jaelynn laughed, but quickly quieted herself for his benefit.

"Are you ill?" she asked, placing her hand on his forehead to see if he was warm. He shook his head, stilled for a long pause, and then sneezed again.

"No," he said. Jaelynn rolled her eyes. _Stubborn men._

"You will be if you don't take care of yourself," she said. She took him by the hand, catching a glimpse of his eyes behind his hair. His eyes looked red and tired. "Did you sleep at all?"

He nodded.

"You need more," she said, but for now she led him to the market, where she normally purchased some of her herbs. She dropped his hand, not realizing she'd held it thus far, and paid for the herbs. "Come on," she said, nodding towards another direction.

He coughed as they walked. It didn't sound life-threatening, of course, but she knew it would only worsen if he didn't take measures now. She stopped at the tavern. The bar wench raised a judicious eyebrow at the scout. Jaelynn chose to ignore it.

"Hot water," she ordered, slapping a coin on the tabletop. Tristan sneezed again. He leaned wearily against the bar. Jaelynn tried not to smile. Some men rocked the town when they sneezed, or threatened to douse it messily. But Tristan's sneeze was cute. He looked somewhere between miserable and trying not to admit he was any different today.

"What did you do?" she asked. "Sleep with your windows open?"

He grunted, and it came muted and nasal. She saw him roll his eyes at how pathetic it sounded.

Just then, the hot water arrived. Jaelynn took the herb she bought and let two leaves of it soak in the steaming water. Slowly, the water turned a grayish green color. Tristan leaned forward, sniffing at it.

"Smells awful," he mumbled. Jaelynn tried not to laugh.

"It'll make you feel better." She put the tip of her finger in the drink. It was very warm, but drinkable. She pushed the cup to him. "Drink."

She heard him choke on it once, but he forced the herbal drink down. When he set it down, she noticed he was glaring at her.

"It's not _that_ bad," she said. She sighed and turned away. She wanted to find the comb, especially if he was going to be difficult.

His footsteps were right behind her, and she was surprised that he was walking along with her as she made her way back to the market.

"You should get some rest," Jaelynn instructed. She heard him clear his throat.

"Done that," he said. She rolled her eyes again. _Fine, get sick for all I care._ She glanced from merchant to merchant, but she couldn't find the right one. She turned another direction.

"What're you looking for?" she heard him ask. Jaelynn sighed, and stopped. She kept looking around.

"A comb, for my hair," she said. "Maybe the merchant isn't here today." But Tristan pointed in one direction further from them, and she turned and saw the merchant who sold many such trinkets.

Delighted, she half-skipped towards the booth. Her eyes perused over the selection of combs and other beautiful items, until she saw the one she wanted. She pointed to it.

"That one."

The merchant picked it up and held it out to Jaelynn, though a little out of reach until she paid. She fingered the coins she had, sifting through them. She looked back to the merchant with her payment, but Tristan handed him coins already. The merchant nodded to him, and handed him the comb. Jaelynn blinked rapidly. _What?_

Tristan held the comb out to her.

"Tristan," she started, though she wasn't sure if she should object or analyze what just happened.

"Here," he said. "As thanks for the drink." He nodded at her to take it, and she did. The comb suddenly felt more valuable to her, even though she could have afforded it easily enough. Was this more than just an expression of thanks? _No, he said exactly what it was._ _Stop reading into his every word!_

The scout coughed again, laying a hand over the tumult in his chest. Jaelynn snapped out of her daze.

"Tristan, you should go back to bed," she said. "You'll feel better tomorrow." She handed him the rest of the herbs she bought. "Soak this in hot water, and drink it when you wake next."

He nodded before another sneeze assailed him.

"Go, Tristan."

He listened, for once. Jaelynn watched him retreat to the building where his room was. As soon as he was out of sight, she looked down at her hands, where she clutched the comb.

She groaned. _What does anything mean anymore?_

-0-0-

Whatever was in the herbs made him sleep, and surprisingly, he did feel a bit better when he woke. Of course, it was dark again now, and he was hungry.

He pulled on his leather jerkin and left his room for the tavern. He was surprised how busy it was, actually. The roar of the crowd instantly aggravated his head. Tristan cut his way through the people and asked for a meal. His head pounded the whole time he waited.

The meal (some soup and bread) he took with him. But he didn't go back to his room. The hours he'd spent there today, even asleep, brought to mind his solitude at Lancelot's grave. He couldn't dwell on that right now; it just made his head ache more.

He walked to the Wall, and climbed to its top. He walked west until he was away from the two watch towers. There, he set his soup on the wall and started on it. The soup warmed his throat. It felt like liquid gold, and he groaned contently as it slid down his throat and worked its magic on his stomach.

So consumed he was in his meal, he almost missed the soft footsteps coming from the side. He glanced to his left, and there was Jaelynn. The hunger left him, replaced by anxiety.

He didn't know what she'd think of the comb. Maybe she was insulted that he paid for it, thinking it was pity or charity? He didn't know! He hoped it wasn't too forward either, and maybe his excuse that it was payment for the herbs worked.

He stood up straight.

"This will only make you feel worse," she said. Tristan frowned. "Being in the cold," she added.

Tristan shrugged.

"Just eating," he said. Jaelynn raised an eyebrow at his lame excuse.

"What was wrong with the tavern?"

He grabbed his bread, just to have something to do, and tore off a piece.

"Too loud," he said. "It was hurting my head." He quickly ate the bread. He offered her a piece, but she shook her head.

"It's the herbal drink," she explained. "It helps you get better, but you'll have a headache for awhile after."

He grunted and tore off another piece of bread. "The taste of horse dung and the pain of too much ale."

She giggled at that. Tristan leaned back to watch her laugh. He noticed she had the comb in her hair.

She settled by him, standing and gazing out at the dark field beyond the wall. A few years ago, he stood here and looked over an army of Saxons. He liked the darkness better than the firelight from that night. There was an assurance of peace in it.

"I've missed our conversations," she said after awhile, breaking their silent revelry. Tristan blinked.

"No one's ever said that to me," he said. Jaelynn laughed again, and clapped her hands once. Tristan smiled.

"True," she said amidst her laughter. "Though you've never given anyone else a chance."

She was right, but he couldn't tell her why that was. He cleared his throat, wincing at the ugliness of the sound coming from his chest.

"Are you all right?" She frowned. Facing him, she stared at his chest like it was a perplexing war wound. Tristan nodded, but his eyes were on the comb in her hair.

He hadn't noticed the design before. The flowers were, well, flowers, but he thought it simple and befitting of Jaelynn. She didn't need elaborate decoration to enhance her beauty. He reached for the comb. His fingers touched it, and he felt the rise of the paint used for the designs. His eyes wandered to her hair, which smelled like he imagined the flowers on the comb would. And then he saw her eyes, staring back at him, confused.

He stepped back and dropped his hand to his side. He went back to his soup just so he could keep his face down. _Blame it on being sick. _He had no idea what he was doing anymore.

He heard Jaelynn move. The dress she wore whispered with each step. She was moving away.

"Get some rest," she said, and then he heard her footsteps retreat.

He shut his eyes, willing himself to wake up back in his room and find this a delusion. Instead, he heard footsteps nearing him again. He glanced her way. She was walking back towards him, and she looked mad suddenly.

Alarmed, he stood up and stepped back, while she matched his steps. She passed his bowl of soup and hit it with her hand.

Tristan blinked when he heard the bowl crash below.

"You can't keep doing this!" she said, her voice seething. She jabbed a finger at his chest. "You can't keep acting sweet, and then indifferent. It's not fair to me!"

He held up his hands, but he had no idea what to say.

"Why?" she asked. "Why make this so hard for me? You said there was no chance between us." His heart plummeted like a rock to his stomach. "But you're killing me, Tristan. With Gawain or Galahad, there are certain things they never do, lines they never cross, but with you, I never know what is normal or not!"

She breathed heavily, and he saw tears glisten when she moved. He would have wiped them away except he felt he might do something else wrong.

"I can't understand you, Tristan," she said, shuddering with an emotional sigh. She paced in front of him, while Tristan stood straight and still. "I don't know how you feel, because you said there was nothing, but then you act like—"

"Okay!" he said a little loudly, gaining her attention and a brief respite from her assailing words. _You've done it now._ Why was he the way he was? Well, no one knew why, and no one understood him. But he thought she did, at least more than anyone else. Tristan paced, his left hand on his belt and his right running through his hair.

"I'm not Lancelot," he started. Inwardly he swore—she didn't know Lancelot and how he was. "I don't . . . say how I feel."

"Then how do I know?" she shot back. "How am I ever supposed to understand how you feel, one way or another?"

She had him there. How to explain . . . She wasn't just asking to understand him. She needed to know how he felt about her. Tristan didn't want to lie anymore, or hide the truth. Everything he did lately was with her in mind. Every time he went out to scout the land, it was with her protection in mind, her well-being. The thought of her brought more joy than he deserved.

He closed the distance between them, cupping his hands on the sides of her face, and gingerly leaning into her.

His heart hammered distinctly in his chest, but he had to do this. He wanted to do this—to show her. He kissed her, something that felt so foreign and so familiar at the same time. He wasn't the kissing type. It was an act of such affection and love that he really hadn't partaken in its joys often. And while when he kissed Nasica, he'd felt dark and cold, suddenly he felt warm. Hope.

He felt her kissing back, hesitantly but her lips were firm against his. He let his hands roam to her hair and the back of her neck. But then Tristan pulled back; this wasn't the time to lose oneself in a moment. He had a point, and he had to gauge the rest of her reaction. She looked stunned. Confused still. But hopeful.

"My actions," he said, answering her question finally.

-0-0-

She had to ask, just to be sure. After he kissed her, she asked him if this meant he felt something for her. And he nodded.

"You're the reason I do anything," he'd said.

And then she blushed.

It was an awkward walk back to their rooms, luckily not just for her. They walked stiffly side by side, each flickering glances at each other, but not sure what to do. She wanted to grab his hand or tuck herself beneath his arm, close to his body, but yet it seemed too foreign and too soon. He must have felt the same way, because he reached out to her a couple of times, rolled his eyes at himself, and then tucked his hands in his pockets.

He walked her to her room. She went in but turned to face him as he coughed several times.

"You should sleep," she said, offering a sympathetic smile. Maybe that would give her time to calm down and convince herself that everything hadn't just been a dream.

He nodded, but he didn't leave. He stood, leaning against the doorway.

"I was outside last night," he said. He looked to the ground. "At the cemetery, until morning."

The words echoed in her mind until she understood what he was saying.

"That's why you got sick."

He shrugged, but yes, that was the reason.

"Why were you there?" she asked. Men didn't just go to the cemetery at odd hours of the night for any reason.

"Dream," he answered. Jaelynn read into it.

"You mean 'nightmare,'" she said, and he nodded. She remembered when she'd seen him thrashing in his sleep before, and how her heart wanted to break for the torment he suffered even in his dreams. "Do you have them often?"

He shrugged. She was beginning to think that meant 'yes' all the time.

"What are they about?"

He opened his mouth, crossing his arms over his chest. He said nothing though, and shifted to lean against his other shoulder on the other side of the doorway. Slowly, he looked her in the eyes, still without speaking a word. _He doesn't want to tell me._ Rather than feel resentful, Jaelynn understood. She leaned into him, standing on her toes, and kissed him chastely on his lips.

When she drew back, she saw his normally blank expression soften. She smiled for him.

"I'm willing to listen, anytime," she offered. He nodded, and she saw a small smile tug at his mouth. He stepped towards her, and she found she couldn't tear her eyes away from his. He never did either. He just came close to her, resting his hands on her hips, and kissed her.

She'd always heard that kissing was like lightning. But that's not what it was now. For Jaelynn, it was so much better. There was a tenderness in the scout's kiss, the way his mouth pressed and moved against her lips. She felt so warm, so safe, so _good_. It was perfect.

He drew back slightly, and kept his arms around her. She had her hands gently resting on his arms, where his muscles were thick below his shoulders. She laid her head against his chest, and she felt him tighten his arms around her body. He sighed, which she thought echoed what she felt at the moment.

When they finally separated, he said:

"I should go."

She nodded automatically, but she didn't want him to go. He moved back for the door.

"Wait," she said softly. He turned back, and she didn't miss the hope in his eyes. He didn't want to go either. She held out her hand to him, waiting for him to take it, and then she pulled him back in her room. She shut the door, and led him to the bed.

His eyes went wide for a moment, but Jaelynn just got on her bed. She sat in the corner with her legs crossed, and motioned for him to sit with her.

His face was blank, but he carefully got on the bed. She grabbed his hand, and pulled him closer.

"Lie down."

He did, with his head near her legs. She grabbed him under the shoulders, and gently pulled him closer until he rested with his back against her. She felt him sigh, and saw him close his eyes. She held him, her right arm resting on his chest. With her left hand, she caressed his face.

Her fingertips brushed aside his hair, showing off his strong cheekbones and the tattooes etched there. She lightly touched his skin, skimming her fingers over his features. He sighed again, and she felt her heart lurch, in a good way.

_This is really happening._ It wasn't a dream. There was no misunderstanding. Tristan cared for her. And she cared for him. Now, he lay in her arms.

And he was even sleeping. His breathing was deeper. Jaelynn smiled down at him.

_Rest, Tristan._ She prayed no dreams would haunt him tonight.


	27. Embrace It

**a/n:** Thanks for your patience. I keep trying to end this story, but then I've written another 13 pages, and I can't just cut stuff out. I actually wrote about four extra pages somewhere in the middle, but I cut it because I kept debating about something for this chapter. I think it's better as is. Hopefully, you agree! (Although, you can't read what I cut, so I guess I mean that I hope you like the chapter.) :o) Thanks for your awesome support! More to come as soon as I can write it well!

**Embrace It**

Jaelynn heard a knock at her door. Her eyes shot open, and Tristan lifted his head to glare at the door.

"Jaelynn?"

She knew that voice.

"Hilden," she whispered. Tristan wasted no time sitting up for Jaelynn to move. She went to the door but paused. _What will he think?_

Hilden knocked again. Jaelynn glanced back to Tristan. He stood up and paced the small room. She noticed his clothes were rumpled and his hair was in more disarray than usual. But to her, it just made her care for him more. _Hilden's at the door!_ With a 'are-you-ready' glance to Tristan, she opened it.

Hilden's eyes immediately moved past her to see Tristan. He raised an eyebrow and looked back to her.

And then, he cleared his throat and clasped his hands in front of him.

"I need you," he said steadily. His eyes flickered back to Tristan, and the awkwardness was starting to consume Jaelynn. "There's an ill man."

"Who?" she asked.

"Edward, the new merchant," Hilden said. His eyes flickered again to Tristan. "Meet me in the healing rooms."

He turned to leave.

"I'll be there soon," she said. Her words sounded hollow, and she couldn't get rid of the awdwardness. There was a pit in her stomach. Hilden turned to leave.

"Hilden," Tristan called out. Despite the situation, Jaelynn noticed his voice. It was rugged in the morning, especially with his cough, but his words came out with his unique lilt "Don't tell anyone, for now."

Jaelynn raised an eyebrow at the scout. She glanced to Hilden. The healer smiled tightly, and nodded.

Jaelynn shut the door and fell against it with a sigh.

"We weren't ready for that," Tristan said. He smiled slightly. Jaelynn tried to smile back.

"I just hope he doesn't ask me about it," she said. Tristan chuckled. It was a garbled sound from his sickness but Jaelynn loved it. "Or tell Vanora." She rolled her eyes at the thought. If Vanora found out, the whole town would know by sunset.

"He'll keep his word," Tristan said. "Does it bother you?" Jaelynn frowned.

"What?"

"That people might find out," he said. _About us_, Jaelynn added in her own mind. For a brief moment, she shivered with delight as she realized there was an 'us.'

"No," she said. She had a feeling Tristan was asking more than just that. "It's just . . . I have cared for you for so long, that people know and teased me about it. Now that we're . . . I'm just afraid no one will believe it."

He nodded silently, and turned for the door. Jaelynn knew he was leaving to give her privacy to ready herself for the day.

"When you're done," he said, drawing her attention back and with it a rush of excitement with every word, "meet me at the stables."

Jaelynn raised an eyebrow. Tristan half-grinned, and left.

She wanted to think about that more, but she had to get to Hilden, soon. Hurrying, she got ready.

-0-0-

Tristan had slept well. He hoped Jaelynn was all right, because sleeping as she had, sitting up, was not very comfortable. He knew from experience.

Their brief and rushed conversation this morning left Tristan wondering: what next? He felt more . . . at peace this morning. But now, how was he supposed to act?

He paced back and forth in the stables, wondering how long it would take for Jaelynn to help Hilden with the newest patient. It'd been two hours already, and he was anxious to see her again.

Jaelynn had said she worried about how everyone would react to them being together. Tristan felt the same way, mainly because this was completely new to him. He thought it wouldn't matter, because it was his life and his business. But Jaelynn was close to all the knights and Arthur and Vanora . . . That made the situation different. He just wasn't sure how much.

Footsteps neared, and Tristan's heart sped up. He waited for her to come through the open stable doors.

His heart fell when he saw it was Arthur.

"Tristan," the king greeted. Tristan nodded back. "What are you doing here?"

Not surprisingly, Tristan had no words to explain that. He settled on shrugging it off. Arthur didn't pursue it.

"I have a matter to discuss with you," he said. Tristan hoped it wasn't another scouting mission. If he started to turn down too many, Arthur would question his sanity.

"All right," Tristan said. He crossed his arms.

Arthur started to speak, but cut himself off as Jaelynn entered the stable. Tristan tried not to show any reaction.

"Jaelynn," Arthur greeted.

"My lord," she said. Her eyes flickered to Tristan. She stood still, and Tristan too. Arthur glanced between them. "Am I interrupting?"

"No, no," Arthur quickly acquiesced. "I can speak with Tristan after dinner tonight."

"Dinner?" Tristan didn't remember anything about tonight.

"Yes," Arthur said with a nod. "Just informal. The knights, and a few others. Jaelynn, why don't you come too?"

Jaelynn smiled politely. "Thank you."

Arthur smiled back and started out of the stables. He paused though, and Tristan felt his body tense up.

"Are you going somewhere?" he asked, directing the question to Jaelynn. Her eyes grew wide.

"Um . . ." She turned to Tristan.

As calmly and nonchalantly as possible, he cleared his throat and said: "Just a ride."

There was a very distinct look of curious suspicion that Tristan caught from Arthur—directed only to him. Tristan went to his horse, avoiding Arthur enough that the king left. Tristan sighed softly to himself.

Jaelynn and Tristan rode outside the wall. He wanted to get away, so they could be undisturbed, and so they could talk. Jaelynn slowed her horse down by the lone tree in the field, just out by the gates.

"I come here a lot," she said, the fondness of showing through on her face. "I like to climb up in the tree and read sometimes." She glanced up at the tall and wide branches. After a moment, she looked to him, waiting for him to say something.

Tristan cleared his throat from its scratchiness. He nodded at the tree.

"I shot a man in that tree."

Jaelynn blinked and her smile vanished.

"Were you in the tree or was he?" she asked, her voice completely serious but non-judgmental.

"He was," he said. _Now might be a good time to explain yourself before you scare her anymore._ "He was with the Saxons, three years ago."

Jaelynn tilted her head up dramatically as she understood. She smiled sweetly at him; Tristan loved the sight of that smile.

"Would you mind telling me the whole story when you say things like that?" she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she nudged her horse to move forward. Tristan chuckled to himself.

He led the way, keeping a fair pace until they were well into the woods. It felt safer there, not from real danger but anyone who might see them. Tristan just didn't want to be seen with Jaelynn.

That sounded wrong, but it wasn't just because of the knights or anyone who shared a common sense of care for her. Tristan knew that as soon as it was known by one person, even a knight, the rest of the town would know—including such people as the smithy's wife, or the gossiper Arthur scolded.

Odd, he thought, that all of a sudden he cared enough about what others thought that it was affecting him so much. He scowled at the idea.

"Where are we going?" she asked, and he heard her horse gallop to catch up with him.

"It's not too far," he answered. He wasn't about to tell her where they were going. If nothing else, he lacked the words to describe it. And so they rode on. They were riding hard, climbing up a hill. Tristan smiled. _Almost there. _

He came to the top of the hill, and the sight greeted him. Eagerly, he turned to watch Jaelynn's reaction. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. He heard a faint gasp from her lips.

They stopped, side by side, at the edge of a field. It was cold, and winter still claimed the land, but that didn't stop the entire field from sprouting amazing multicolored flowers. They stood proudly and strong above the cold ground, their bright colors a stark contrast to the rest of the area. Yellows, reds, whites, blues . . . the flowers were a testament of the spring that would follow in two months or so.

Jaelynn slid off her horse, and stepped into the field. Her hands were out by her sides, hovering above the flowers without touching them. It was as if she was touching them only in thought, and yet the warmth from her hands seemed to caress over the petals. Tristan watched her, and it was an image that would always remain in his mind.

She turned back to him. Her brown eyes seemed so full of color and life. Tristan dismounted. He walked towards her slowly.

"It's a change from the fort," he said with a shrug. She smiled, slowly until her mouth broke out an uncontained grin. She ran to him and Tristan caught her in his arms. She felt incredible in his arms, and he hugged her tight to his body. His felt her breath on his shoulder and neck.

He found himself kissing her. Oh, how he loved the feel of her lips. So soft, but alive with passion as she pressed her lips against his. Tristan moved his mouth over hers, down to her chin and further to her neck. She giggled.

Tristan pulled away. He searched her face. Laughter as he kissed her wasn't a good thing, he thought. She must have noticed his scowling bewildered look.

"Your beard," she said with a gasp. "It tickles." She rubbed his jawline with her hand. "Soft," she muttered. He closed his eyes as her hands slipped from his face to his neck. And then he heard her move away. He opened his eyes. She took his hand, and pulled him further into the field.

She plopped down on the ground, and looked up expectantly at him. Tristan sat next to her. She had a smile on her face, one of those excited, innocent smiles. It was almost too innocent, and Tristan wondered what was going on in her mind.

"What did you think when you first met me?" she asked. Tristan blinked. Her smile broadened.

"With the Saxons?" he asked. She nodded.

"I was just a girl," she said, which Tristan thought was funny. It was only a couple of months ago that he thought the same thing of her. "But still . . . ."

He nodded, and cleared his throat.

"I thought you were afraid of me." He smiled as he remembered it, how she'd flinched when he spoke or smiled at her.

"I was afraid of everything," she said, a little defensive.

He shook his head. "But you were brave. You came back to the camp—helped me escape."

She smiled timidly, as if trying to hide her pride of the memory. She leaned back and lay on her side. The ground was cold, but she didn't seem to mind it.

"How did you come to befriend the hawk?"

Tristan chuckled. "Curious today?"

She smirked at him. "You can ask me questions too." He planned to.

"She started following me, on a scouting trip," Tristan said. "I thought she was an enemy's."

Jaelynn laughed. "You don't trust anyone, do you?"

Tristan shrugged. "She was." Jaelynn's eyes widened. "Before they attacked, she squawked. I was ready for them." He remembered thinking how fortunate he was that the bird's cry had alerted him. "Her master was dead. I held my arm out to her, and she came to me."

"Really?" Jaelynn asked in awe.

Tristan nodded. "What'd you think when we met?" She grinned, probably at how quickly he changed to question her.

"I thought you would die," she said. "You were outnumbered. And the Saxons kept hitting you. After they killed my father, I thought they would eventually kill each of us." He marveled at how steady her voice was when she spoke of her father.

"They would have," he said.

"Yes," she said, grinning again. "I remember you telling me that. Not what a girl wants to hear." He chuckled with her, but his mind was still on her father.

"I'm sorry I couldn't stop them," he said, "and save your father."

Jaelynn stared at him. Tristan found he had to look away, and his eyes focused on the flowers around them.

"I've never blamed you," he heard her say softly. "You tried to help, even though you could have been killed. I always thought it selfless of you." She sat up and shifted towards him. She gently touched his face, smiling as she looked at him. Tristan thought about kissing her again.

"What do the tattoos mean?"

Tristan laughed to himself. She could certainly keep him off-guard.

They sat in the field, talking and asking each other questions. Tristan reveled in its simplicity, and discovered more about Jaelynn. It made her dearer to him than before. That alone was a foreign feeling, but he treasured each new tidbit he learned. She seemed more complete with the details she told him.

It was late in the afternoon when they rode back to the Wall. They were nearing the lone tree. Tristan pulled up on the reins.

"Jaelynn," he called out. She turned and saw that he'd stopped, and halted her horse. "Do something for me."

"What?" She had a suspicious smile on her face, and Tristan knew she would be disappointed with what he was about to say. He drew a deep breath.

"Don't tell anyone about us," he said, "for now." Sure enough, her smile disappeared. The light dimmed in her brown eyes.

"Tristan, I know it seemed like a good idea when Hilden . . ."

"It's not . . . . I'm not ashamed of you," he said. "It's me."

She rolled her eyes.

"They'll talk about you," he said a little more urgently. "When they know about us."

"Tristan, they will always talk."

He scowled. "I know." That was his whole point.

He saw her blink several times. He half-wanted her to give up on him now, even after their tender moments not long ago, just to preserve her reputation. He knew it would be tainted as soon as anyone found out about them.

"Do you think I fault you for your actions?" she asked.

He sighed but didn't answer.

"Do you think you're an evil man because of what you've done?" she asked next.

"Everyone does," he snapped at her.

"Not me," she said with more force. "I know there are people who talk about you—maybe they hate you, because they don't understand."

He knew for a fact there were several people who hated him.

"Tristan, there will always be people who don't understand. No one will completely forget that you've killed. Some will always think of the rumors and stories they've heard about you. You just have to face that."

He frowned. He faced it every day. He faced the accusations, the gossiped words behind his back, the direct insults hurtled at him in public. He bore it all, and at night, he faced the reality of memories, captive in his own haunted dreams. Without realizing it, Tristan turned away from her, twisting his body so he could look blankly over the field.

"Maybe it's time you gave them something new to talk about."

"I don't want you to get hurt," he said, thinking she meant her as the new subject of gossip, and knowing she would be an easy target with him connected to her.

"I'm not talking about me," she said. She smiled at him, and nudged her horse closer to his. She reached out to touch him, but pulled back with a glance at the wall and the guards there. She faced him again. "If you want to keep it a secret for now, I'll will too. I'm still not sure how to handle Vanora and Lucinda."

He let out a breath he'd been holding.

"But I won't hide it forever." She grinned at him, and kicked her horse. She rode towards the gates of the fort, leaving Tristan behind. He didn't follow.

_You just have to face it._ Tristan thought he had been facing it. _Give them something new to talk about._ What? He scouted. He fought. He killed. There wasn't much there. He thought back to a few months ago, when Arthur had been frustrated with him for his constant working. _Rest_, Arthur had urged him. Well, that was a vicious cycle.

If he rested, he thought about his past. To avoid that, he worked. When he worked or scouted, people talked about him as a dark, cold-hearted man who played watch-dog for Arthur. So he avoided rest, and people—and ended up frustrating Arthur, and now Jaelynn too.

_Face it._

_Stop thinking about it._ He knew he would always feel a sharp splinter in his mind and chest when someone mentioned Rome or how he was a killer. But maybe he could live with just that pain, and without adding to it.

_How?_

_Think of something else._

_Someone._ He did have the hopes of a new life. Jaelynn made him happy, though he wasn't entirely sure how this would work between them. It didn't help that they hid it so far. But she was the good in his life. She made him want to be better.

Maybe that's what he needed to show now. Not for the gossipers' sake, but for his own.

He smirked at his own thoughts, and rode on into the town.

-0-0-

Jaelynn had changed back and forth in her two nicer dresses. She'd switched them four times now, and decided, for time's sake, she would go with the second one. It was a simple green dress, nothing fancy and with no embellishments. It fit her station and flattered her body enough that she didn't feel like a child.

She kept her hair down, and with a slight smirk, she braided one part. It was hidden within the rest of her hair, but it was her secret little clue about Tristan. She doubted anyone would even see it, much less figure out its meaning.

The dinner was being held at the round table. Jaelynn entered, and found everyone else seated. Her eyes immediately sought Tristan. He was in his usual spot. His eyes found hers, and he looked with a nod to the seat next to him.

She smiled.

"Jaelynn, come here!"

_Lucinda._ She sat by Gawain, with a spare seat empty between her on the other side. And next to that seat was Vanora. She glanced to Tristan. He gave the slightest nod.

She tried to hide her sigh and took the seat between the two women.

"There's something different about you, Jaelynn," Vanora said a few moments later. The woman scrutinized her with that suspicious look she often saw used on Vanora's children.

Jaelynn swallowed, and shrugged. A drink was placed before her, and Jaelynn quickly downed some of it. It wasn't wine, but it was the bitterest thing she'd ever tasted. It made her tongue feel rough, and though she chased it with a piece of bread, she could taste nothing but that bitterness for the next several minutes.

Vanora must have noticed her predicament. She leaned over to Jaelynn.

"Try not to choke at the king's table."

Jaelynn glared at her. Vanora laughed lightly.

"Tristan!" Jaelynn's head shot up as if her own name had been called. It was Galahad who spoke. She wondered why he winked at Gawain before continuing. "I've found a woman who will take you."

Tristan didn't even blink. He stared with the most bored expression ever on his face.

"Really," he said dryly. Galahad's loud announcement had everyone's attention. The king and Guinevere looked on as well. She saw the queen glance at her. Guinevere smiled with one eyebrow raised, and she glanced at Galahad, Tristan, then back to her. Jaelynn just shrugged.

"Beautiful," Galahad said, citing the mystery woman's qualities, "intelligent, hardly talks—she's perfect for you!"

Laughter rippled around the table. Jaelynn smiled tamely. Tristan shot her a brief glare behind the hair in front of his eyes.

"Who is she?" he asked. Jaelynn's heart lurched. _What!_ But looking at Tristan, she caught his teasing glance in her direction.

Galahad and Gawain exchanged looks. Both stopped laughing, clearly not expecting Tristan's question. Galahad stammered.

"Um . . . she's, uh . . . her name?" He looked to Gawain for backup. Jaelynn smirked at the knights. There was no woman, and he hadn't even had a name to backup his jest.

"Your sister?" Tristan filled in.

Arthur spat out his drink, and Bors roared. Jaelynn couldn't hold back, and laughed, her voice joining Lucinda's, Vanora's, Guinevere's, Arthur's (once he recovered) and even the serving women in the room.

Galahad, needless to say, was quiet for much of the dinner.

"How goes your weapons training, Jaelynn?" Arthur asked. He sipped at his drink. Jaelynn had to stop herself from making a face; how could he drink that?

"Well," she answered. She felt slightly unnerved that everyone was watching her now. "But I have much room to improve."

"Galahad might disagree," Gawain said, and the youngest knight blushed. "Jaelynn nearly bested him."

"She did not!"

Jaelynn smiled.

"Have you a sword?" Guinevere asked. "I have one that might suit you perfectly, if you'd like." Jaelynn tried to respond, but Gawain beat her to it.

"Oh, she has a sword," he said. He glanced purposefully at Tristan. Jaelynn shifted in her seat. "She has Tristan's old sword." Suddenly, all eyes moved to Tristan. He just sat there, staring calmly back at them all. Jaelynn wondered how he did that.

"The long sword, with the curve at the end?" the queen clarified. Jaelynn nodded.

"That's too big for her!" Bors said. The man couldn't say a word quietly, could he? Vanora swatted at him.

"No, it's not," Tristan said. He looked slightly miffed; Jaelynn wondered why he was bothered by Bors' comment. Bors glared at the scout, but looked to Jaelynn for an answer.

She smiled sweetly. "It was an adjustment, but I find its reach gives me an advantage," she said. The men nodded along, a bit stunned by her words (except Tristan, who just grinned).

"Well," Lucinda piped up, "if you ask me, Jaelynn needs more training in the kitchen." Jaelynn rolled her eyes and uttered an exasperated gasp.

"Lucinda . . ." she mumbled.

"It's true, Jaelynn," Vanora said. She patted Jaelynn on the shoulder. "Your last loaf of bread could replace a stone in Hadrian's Wall."

Arthur about lost his drink again.

-0-0-

Arthur dabbed his mouth dry, ignoring the reproving look his wife shot him. He couldn't help it that people chose to say such things when he was drinking.

The rest of the dinner was quite enjoyable though, and Arthur determined that he had to do this more often. He missed the casual, relaxed friendships of his knights. Being king had responsibilities, but it didn't mean he had to sacrifice those closest to him.

The gathering came to an end, and as the knights and women started to leave, Arthur called out.

"Tristan, could you stay a moment?"

The scout nodded. Arthur watched as he nodded also to Jaelynn as she passed. Throughout the dinner, he noticed the two of them looking at each other frequently.

The last person left, and it was just Tristan and Arthur. They stood facing each other by the king's normal seat at the round table.

"Thank you for staying," Arthur said. Tristan grunted. "I have thought for awhile of something I need. There are few men I trust implicitly, Tristan. You are one of them."

The scout blinked.

"Thank you."

Arthur was about to say more, but Tristan's thanks caught him off guard. He tried to regain his thoughts.

"For some time, I have handled scouting reports individually, directing assignments as I see fit," he said. "It isn't something I can do anymore, and frankly, I fear I lack the energy to truly give the scouting and reports I receive justice. If it keeps up, I will only jeopardize the land's safety."

Tristan frowned slightly. He probably tried to anticipate what Arthur was saying. _Always thinking_.

"I would like to appoint you as my advisor over intelligence," he said finally. "You have skills, Tristan, that no other man has. It's not just your stealth and your abilities in scouting and spying. You know strategy, and you're an incredible fighter."

The only sign that Tristan gave him of having heard and understood him was to lean against the table. Arthur half-smiled at that.

"You don't have to answer now," he said, filling the scout's lack of response.

Tristan nodded. _Is that a 'yes'?_

"Do I need to go and scout myself?" he asked. Arthur shook his head.

"No," he said. "You know there are plenty of scouts. You can select who you want to send for whatever purpose. It's all in your hands, however you choose to coordinate it. If there are any concerns or threats, you and I will discuss them."

Tristan nodded at the clarification. Arthur saw a ghost of a smile on his face. The scout didn't move. He just leaned against the table, his head slightly bowed so his hair covered most of his face. He stayed still, and Arthur wondered if he was even breathing.

"You don't have to decide now," Arthur said. "You can tell me later, either way."

Tristan shook his head. Arthur's spirits fell.

"I don't need to," he said, extending a hand to Arthur. It was very formal, very . . . Roman, which surprised Arthur. But he took Tristan's hand and shook it. "I'll do it."

The grin could hardly be contained on Arthur's face.

"Excellent!"

For several reasons, Arthur was relieved. He felt some peace of mind, both for the land's safety, the people's safety, and for Tristan's happiness. It wouldn't be easy for Tristan, but if there's one thing he knew well about his scout—or intelligence advisor—it was that he enjoyed a challenge.


	28. Revelations

**Revelations**

Maybe he was a little excited.

Tristan doubted Arthur meant for him to start so soon with his new responsibilities, but he kept thinking about it. That's how he ended up walking along the wall, right after speaking with Arthur.

Tristan studied the guards who had the watch. Some he made a note to find out more about—perhaps they had a use for his purposes. Many of the watch guards could scout as well.

He would need at least three or four scouts, to start. He didn't know anyone well beyond the knights, so tomorrow he planned on asking about new potentials. There were the usual scouts already in use, and Tristan would use a few, but he didn't want to miss others who could be just as good if not better.

Selecting the scouts was a necessary step, but Tristan recognized he also needed to glean from Arthur the reports and goings-on in the last few weeks. From there, he would set up regular scouting schedules, especially to the north and the south, by the seas. For now, he didn't see a need for more beyond that, but that could change with what he learned from Arthur.

He wondered why he ever deserved this—between his new purpose in Britain and his budding relationship with Jaelynn, he half expected it all to disappear. Maybe he would wake up tomorrow and find himself surrounded by vengeful Romans and marauders.

That sliver of pain hit his heart and mind, reminding him of his misdeeds. His body tensed and stilled, but his stomach hardened sickeningly.

_Let it go._ Instead, images ran through his mind of people screaming, that first scream of a loved one who found the target he'd killed. He could hear it.

He shook his head.

_Stop thinking about it._ He let out a long breath.

Suddenly something moved and landed in front of him on the dark wall. Tristan flinched, ready for a defense, but it was only his hawk. She cocked her head to the side as if to greet him and question what was wrong. Tristan rubbed his finger beneath her beak at her neck. She nipped at his finger. Tristan grinned—it was a sign of affection.

Just as unexpectedly, the hawk hopped off the wall and took flight. He watched her soar into the sky. She would probably go find a snack now.

_It's late._ Tristan left the wall, and headed back to the residence area. He went to Jaelynn's room, but stopped outside of it. Hardly anyone stirred. _I stayed out longer than I thought._ He didn't want to wake her. Yet he couldn't resist making sure she was all right. Carefully, he opened the door, and peered into the room.

Jaelynn was asleep. He could hear the steadiness of her breathing. He smiled, and left the room.

-0-0-

The first thing Jaelynn wondered when she woke was what Arthur wanted to speak to Tristan about. It must have been important. She didn't see Tristan before she turned in for the night.

_He probably went straight to his room._ She didn't mind that. She wasn't ready for them to constantly be together. But she did love being with him.

She wasn't sure if she _loved_ him, not entirely sure, anyway. She long suspected it, before he reciprocated any sentiments for her. But without actually having a relationship, she felt it was silly to even think of her feelings for him as love. And now . . . well, now she wasn't sure if she should quite label her feelings for him yet.

She loved a lot about him, though. And she was excited at the thought of seeing him. She just hoped he was all right, and not dredging up his own past to torture himself. Their conversation yesterday made Jaelynn realize how much Tristan was still hurting, even though the stoic knight in him made him hide it.

He hid too much. Jaelynn hoped to change that. Especially between her and Tristan, and with everyone knowing about their relationship. Dinner was quite awkward around all their friends. She didn't appreciate Galahad goading Tristan about a woman, either. Maybe that was a slight jealous streak coming out in her . . . .

She had to see him. Grinning, she quickly threw on fresh clothes, and made her way to his room.

She knocked on the door quietly. It was still early.

He didn't answer.

_Maybe he's asleep. _She tried the door.

Amazingly, he didn't wake up. Tristan was in his bed, with a blanket twisted around his legs. He lay on his side, and had one arm across his torso. Jaelynn frowned. His fists were balled tightly.

He shifted onto his back. His face was creased with a heavy frown. He exhaled loudly. It was like he was panting.

_He's dreaming._

She didn't imagine it was a good dream. Jaelynn went to his side and knelt by his bed.

"Tristan," she whispered, not wanting to startle him if he woke. But he didn't. His body rocked from side to side, as if he were dodging someone in his sleep. Jaelynn laid a hand over his forehead, her fingers brushing aside his hair.

"No." Tristan was still asleep, but the word came out as a miserable plea.

"Shhh," Jaelynn soothed, caressing his face. "Tristan, it's all right." She let her hand wander to his hair and ran her fingers through it. Slowly, he stilled. She watched the rise and fall of his chest, and it became slower, steadier.

She smiled. The knight looked peaceful now. Instead of the lines of worry and fear in his face, he looked relaxed. She leaned over him and kissed his forehead.

"Sleep," she whispered. She watched him a moment longer, and then left.

-0-0-

He did not sleep well. He didn't remember the nightmare this time, but he knew it wasn't pleasant. Someone had been there too—not in his dream, but he felt someone near him.

Ordinarily that would bother Tristan, but he had the sense of peace when the person was near. He wondered if it was Jaelynn.

His stomach grumbled. Tristan combed his fingers through his messy hair, his only attempt to ever look presentable, and left his quarters. It was past time for breakfast, but he could scrounge up something suitable to eat.

Despite the hunger bothering him, he wanted to find Jaelynn. He checked the healing rooms, but Hilden said she was cooking. Intrigued, Tristan headed to Vanora's. Jaelynn most likely would go there to cook. But she wasn't there.

"I've teased her too much," Vanora said. "Perhaps she'll never cook again, not 'round me." She grinned and turned back to whatever it was Vanora did.

Tristan tried Gawain's next. Before he even knocked on the door, he smelled something . . . fresh baking. Tristan let himself in. He didn't see Lucinda or Gawain, but Jaelynn was busy in the kitchen. Her back was turned to him. She was humming too. Tristan smiled.

"Hey," he said. Jaelynn jumped, and something fell from her hands. It was a dark loaf, and she scrambled to pick it up. Despite the glare she sent him, Tristan grinned.

"Sorry," he said.

"No you're not," she shot back. He didn't deny it, and Jaelynn swatted at him. He watched as she cut into the bread. "Here, taste this." She passed him a piece.

Now when he said it was a dark loaf, he really was trying to overlook that it was a blackened loaf. Even so, Tristan stood steadfast and took the piece of bread offered him. It felt doughy in the middle, while the crust was hard. It crunched when he bit into it, jarring his teeth. The taste assaulted his tongue—slightly sour, maybe rotted or like mushrooms.

Jaelynn's eyes were upon him. Tristan swallowed the piece, feeling the rough crust of the bread scrape his throat, but he managed a smile too.

"Good," he said. Jaelynn grinned.

"You're lying." She turned away. "I just can't figure out what's wrong."

Tristan blinked. How had she—

"How did you know?" he asked. She turned back to him with a grin.

"I can just tell." She leaned over the black loaf. "Want another piece?" He smirked, noticing the gleam in her eyes. "How did you sleep?"

Her tone changed, he noticed. It was light, though he detected the strain in her question. He smiled to himself. _She was there._

"You know," he said. "Thanks for being there." She seemed surprised, probably that he'd known she was in his room, but she nodded. Jaelynn turned to something hidden beneath a cloth, and she pulled it back to reveal some delightful-looking treat. She grinned mischievously.

"Lucinda's," she explained. "Want some?" He raised an eyebrow at that. "It serves her right, after teasing me last night."

He chuckled, and she cut some of the treat. Tristan almost groaned at the taste of it. It was sweet but with some sort of fruit in it, surrounded in a thin, light bread.

"So how long are we going to keep things a secret?" she asked. Tristan swallowed the food. He wasn't surprised she brought this up already. Last night proved uncomfortable for them both, even without everyone knowing. _How much more uncomfortable could it be with them knowing?_

"Don't know," he said, mumbling between another bite of the pastry. "When it feels right, I guess."

She half-glared at his vague answer.

"What did Arthur want?" she asked. She busied herself to remove the dark loaf she'd ruined. "If you don't mind me asking."

He shook his head. A smile came over his face, and he couldn't really suppress it.

"Arthur wants me to control the scouting around here," he said. It wasn't quite as impressive as how Arthur presented it, but Tristan didn't want to boast. At Jaelynn's confused look, though, he elaborated. "I manage the scouts. Send them out. Talk to Arthur about what's going on in the land."

Her eyes lit up. "Really? That's wonderful!" She stepped towards him and hugged him tight. He found himself sighing contently at the gesture. Suddenly she pulled back. "Isn't it?"

He nodded.

"It keeps me here more too," he said. Jaelynn tilted her head to the side with a frown on her face.

"You won't scout yourself?" she asked. He shook his head. "Won't you miss it?"

Tristan shrugged. "I have a reason to stay here." He stared directly at her, and after a few moments, Jaelynn blushed. He loved it when she blushed—he found he loved a lot about her. Tristan took a step towards her, ridding themselves of the distance between them. He snaked one arm around her waist and kissed her gingerly.

"Something smells—" Quickly, Tristan pulled away. "Jaelynn?"

It was Galahad, of all people. Tristan tried to act like nothing happened, but one look at Galahad's face told him it wasn't working. The young knight's eyes were wider than the moon, and he kept looking back and forth from Jaelynn to Tristan. Tristan glanced at Jaelynn; she fidgeted with her hands.

Galahad turned to Tristan. "You? And Jaelynn?" He drew a sharp breath. Tristan felt his heart pounding with adrenaline. "How . . . Bors is going to kill you!" He shouted that, and Tristan pounced.

He clapped his hand over Galahad's mouth and shoved him against the kitchen wall. Galahad groaned but his eyes glared harshly at Tristan.

"Tristan!" Jaelynn hissed behind him.

"Quiet. Don't say anything," Tristan said in a low voice to Galahad. The knight just kept up his glare. "No one knows yet."

"Tristan, let him go," Jaelynn said. He felt her swat his shoulder. Galahad muttered something beneath Tristan's hand, but it came out garbled. Tristan smirked.

"Swear it," he said, his eyes leveled at Galahad's. The young knight's eyes narrowed further, and then he suddenly pushed his weight against Tristan's. Tristan stumbled back just a little, but Galahad kneed him in the stomach. With a groan, Tristan went to one knee. He couldn't be terribly angry about it—he was amused by this scuffle—but Galahad didn't seem to find the same humor. Galahad stood over him.

"I won't swear anything until I know more!" The stupid knight was still shouting. Tristan swiveled his body around, using his knee as his anchor point, and kicked Galahad low at his calves. As soon as his body hit the ground, Tristan was upon him again, covering his mouth with his hand and pinning him with his other.

"I care for her," he muttered between clenched teeth, "more than you've ever cared for a woman." He heard Jaelynn gasp lightly. "You need know nothing else."

Jaelynn stood over them both. "We'll tell everyone soon, Galahad," she said.

Galahad stared at Jaelynn for several moments. It was bothering Tristan, but then the knight's eyes moved to focus on Tristan. Galahad nodded once.

Tristan released him and leaned back for Galahad to get up. He didn't miss the annoyed and angry looks Galahad shot him. Tristan grinned.

"That was fun," he said. Galahad rolled his eyes. He turned to Jaelynn.

"You sure you want this troll?" he said. Jaelynn smiled and nodded. Galahad faced Tristan again. "Bors won't be happy."

The smirk came naturally to his face. "He'll be fine."

-0-0-

Jaelynn found that she stayed by the window in the healing rooms, watching over the town. Her eyes followed Tristan as he walked about the town, even as her fingers numbly worked over leaves for more ointment.

Tristan mentioned he had to go speak with Arthur, and find some scouts. She heard the underlying excitement there. She was happy for him. But she worried too—would this make his life more dangerous?

He'd said he wouldn't go scouting as much, or at least that's how she understood it. He wouldn't quit scouting altogether. She knew him well enough for that. Part of her feared he would take on the more dangerous assignments for himself. It was just his nature, whether because he didn't trust anyone else to do it right, or because he was protecting others.

She sighed. He would be happy, and there was no guarantee of safety for any of them. Even in times of relative peace, there was always danger. She just rarely knew it, until she became close to those who protected her and all the people.

"Do you know what you're getting into?" came a voice behind her. Jaelynn well-knew who it was. She faced Galahad, and not surprisingly, he was scowling.

"You mean Tristan," she said. Galahad gave a brisk nod.

"I don't want to see you hurt."

Jaelynn frowned. "Hurt is a part of life, Galahad," she said. "But I don't expect any hurt to come from Tristan."

The young knight tossed his head to the side with a degree of exaggeration. His brown curls bounced with his movement.

"Tristan only knows pain," he said. He started to say more, until Jaelynn quickly interceded.

"All the more reason why he deserves better," she said. She couldn't believe Galahad was so concerned. Sure, she appreciated it, but— "I thought you supported this. You and Gawain both knew how I felt, didn't you? Why fight this now?"

Galahad sighed heavily and fell into a chair by the door.

"I'm not fighting it," he said. "I just never thought it'd actually happen. Tristan . . . well, he's not the easiest person to get along with."

She smiled, though with some sorrow, as she thought about what Galahad had told her on their journey to that first village, where Morlo was. There indeed was some bad blood between Galahad and Tristan. But Galahad wanted to move past that, didn't he? And she'd seen the same with Tristan, though maybe not specifically with Galahad. Tristan just wanted to move on, and rightly so. _Their little fight today probably did not help._ She almost laughed at how ridiculous and childish they'd seemed, even though there was some seriousness behind the encounter.

"I really care for him," she said. She ran her fingers through her long hair, which she'd let down earlier. The herb leaves she'd been crushing before got caught in her hair. She ignored it for now. "I love him, I think." She couldn't suppress a grin at the thought.

Galahad scowled a bit more, but he remained quiet.

"And we both want this," she added.

"Then why hide it?" Galahad asked. He had an air of confidence around him, slightly haughty as if he'd just caught her in something. "If he's serious about you, why hide it?"

"He's not ready. And is it any wonder that we'd want to hide it," she said, half-glaring at him, "when you acted like you did?"

"He attacked me!"

Jaelynn scoffed. "That's not what I mean. You being here now says enough about how you feel."

He quieted at that. His eyes were downcast, and he folded his arms across his chest. Slowly, he gave a nod.

"If you're sure," he said, standing. "But if he ever does anything to hurt you, I'll set him straight." She saw his muscles tense as if to prove his strength and resolve. She tried not to giggle.

"Thank you, Galahad."

He left, and Jaelynn gave in to her laughter. It was a relief, really. She shook her head, and went back to the window. Tristan was out there again, this time talking with one of the native scouts. _Lennor._ He was one who rescued them from the marauders.

She wondered if Tristan was asking him to be a scout for him.

-0-0-

"Yes," Lennor said, grinning. "I want to help."

Tristan nodded reservedly at him. "Good. You know anyone else who's good to scout?"

Lennor nodded and rattled off five names. Tristan wasn't crazy about two of them, but the other three he would pursue.

"We'll meet later," he said. From the corner of his eye, he saw Arthur. _Good. _Lennor nodded.

"Thank you, Tristan," he said. Tristan didn't miss the man's sincerity. He nodded back, and left to follow Arthur. He wanted to go over everything about the scouting and security of the land.

He walked steadily towards the king, weaving through some women gathering water for chores. He ignored their wide-eyed looks, and went past the smithy and towards the market. Arthur was strolling through there.

"Arthur," he called out. The king looked around for who called him, and smiled when he saw Tristan.

"Good morning, Tristan," Arthur greeted, clapping him on the back as soon as he was near enough. Tristan fell into step with him. "How are you this day?"

Tristan nodded, as if that were answer enough. "I wanted to hear the recent scouting reports. Do you have time?"

Arthur chuckled. "Of course. Already thinking about your new duties?"

"A little. I have two scouts I'll use," he replied. "A few more to check out."

Arthur stopped. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

Tristan grinned. "Enough."

With a sigh and a smile, Arthur shook his head. As the men continued through the market, vendors bowed and offered the king the option on the finest products. Arthur politely shook his head at a necklace that the vendor offered for Guinevere.

"No, thank you," he said.

Tristan hid a smile behind his long bangs.

"Sire, a new delicacy from the sea?" inquired another vendor. Tristan stopped in his tracks, and he saw Arthur glance sharply at him. In the vendor's hands was a blackish creature, with long spikes jutting from its small round body.

Twinges of pain crept through his body. He could feel the fire and piercing torment again, stemming from the wounds in his calves, arm, side . . . Tristan held his breath. _It's just an animal, nothing more than a 'delicacy.'_

He felt Arthur's gaze on him. Tristan released his breath, and stepped forward to take the creature from the vendor. The vendor had held it carefully with wooden tongs. Tristan merely grasped it by one spike and weaved his fingers between the other needles. The creature was light, despite the large span that the spikes gave it.

"What is it?" he asked calmly. The vendor shot a confused glance to Arthur, but answered:

"A sea urchin," he replied. _That was it. Arthur called it the same once._ Tristan turned his hand at different angles to study the creature. "Be careful. The spikes are sharp."

Tristan resisted the urge to glare at the man. He was well-aware of how sharp the spikes were.

"How do you eat it?" he asked. Despite the man's previous confusion, he now seemed quite confident as he launched into his role of a merchant.

"Quite simply, my lord," he said. Tristan wondered why he called him 'my lord.' "You remove the spikes, cut them or pull them off. Women can use them as hair decorations."

That was one thing he would never buy for Jaelynn.

"Then, you cook the body in hot water. It becomes soft, and ready to eat," the vendor finished.

Tristan glanced at Arthur. The king was studying the exchange, no doubt concerned about the sea urchin and its 'history' with Tristan.

"What about the poison?" he asked. Surely, it couldn't be good to eat. The vendor looked surprised, maybe because Tristan knew the creature was poisonous.

"When you cook it, the poison does not affect you," he said. Tristan eyed the creature again. He felt the sharp points against his fingertips. Slowly, he held it out for the vendor to take back. The man was quite slow and cautious as he regained his hold over his product.

"No thanks," Tristan said. He turned to keep walking, and Arthur with him. They were several feet away when Arthur said;

"I almost thought you were going to eat it."

Tristan chuckled.

-0-0-

Word was out about Tristan's new position as Arthur's advisor. Vanora had snagged Jaelynn in the afternoon, telling her that everyone was gathering to celebrate at the tavern. Jaelynn thought that was funny—Tristan was not one to celebrate. But an evening with friends was always great.

Except, yet again, she would be near Tristan and have to ignore anything between them. She sighed, tossed her hair over one shoulder, and sought the group.

Bors' laughter drew her to a table off to the side of the main serving area. Arthur was there, which surprised Jaelynn. She didn't see the king often in the tavern. Guinevere was not there, but Gawain and Galahad were, with Lucinda and Vanora as well. Tristan was sandwiched between Bors and Gawain, and from the look on his face, he was either mildly enjoying himself or hating life.

Was it just her, or did his eyes light up a bit when he noticed her? She took a seat by Lucinda, the only spot really available and sadly the furtherest point away from Tristan.

"It's about time you give him something to do around here!" Bors said to Arthur. The others laughed.

"He does more than you do," Vanora said, smacking Bors up the back of his bald head. A serving wench came up and filled their glasses. Jaelynn saw Galahad grab the girl, and she gave him a kiss. No one blinked an eye at it. _So unfair._

The knights were teasing each other as usual, although Galahad was avoiding Tristan with barely concealed disdain. Jaelynn, though, ignored it and hardly heard anything. There were a few men who played music, and it combined with her thoughts drowned out a lot. She kept glancing at Tristan. She would sometimes catch his eye, and sometimes he was already staring at her.

A fourth round of drinks came, and Jaelynn sighed. As much as she was glad for some merriment, this was tiring her already. Gawain's drink was frothing on his beard, and Galahad enjoyed grabbing the serving girl each time she came. Jaelynn had no doubt that he was aiming for her further attentions later._ Probably to taunt Tristan._

She sighed, and glanced up at the sky. _How much longer?_ She might as well return to her room. She glanced around the table next, and saw Tristan staring pointedly at her. His mouth was turned downward, and for once, it was very clear he was frustrated.

"So Tristan," Galahad said loudly, "I have a lady for you." He nodded at a wench in the corner, and everyone turned to look. Jaelynn glared at Galahad, but the young knight quickly avoided her look. The woman looked at Tristan, and confidently _winked_ in his direction! Jaelynn rolled her eyes and renewed her glare to Galahad.

"Ahh, Tristan, there's a buxom lass for you," Bors said loudly. Vanora hit him again. Gawain was losing his drink in between his laughter, but Lucinda hit him too, and he quickly sobered up.

"What do you say, Tristan?" Galahad challenged. Jaelynn understood he was angry with Tristan, but this was hurting her too. _Foolish man,_ she thought. _He's purposely goading us!_

As all eyes were on Tristan, he stood in response. He ran a hand through his hair, and the knights whistled, assuming it vanity. Jaelynn held her breath as he walked a few steps in the woman's direction, around the table. But then he turned and came straight at Jaelynn.

Jaelynn noticed the confusion on everyone's face, but not for long. Her gaze locked with Tristan's. He took her hand.

"Let's dance," he mumbled. She let him lead her, noticing now the ballad that was being played by the musicians in the corner.

He grasped her hand tightly, and pulled her around to face him. She couldn't wipe the grin off her face as he held her and slowly they began to step lightly to the music. She was surprised at his ability.

"I thought you couldn't dance," she said. He stepped to the side, turning them together, and she saw Arthur, Gawain and Bors gaping at them. Vanora and Lucinda smiled happily and clearly with some astonishment.

"I never said that," he said. "Just rather dance with you." Her face grew hot and pink, but she loved it because of what he said. With two quick steps, they turned again, and Jaelynn saw Galahad at the table.

Galahad smiled. He nodded at her with that mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Slowly, she understood and grinned back. _He was trying to get Tristan to act._

"Dance is a well-known fight," Tristan said. Jaelynn focused back on him, and scoffed.

"A fight?"

He nodded, and his warm brown eyes looked upon her. She felt her body tingle just at the affection in his eyes.

"Steps, left, right, forward, back," he said with a shrug. She felt his hand against her back, pressing to bring her closer. She could feel the warmth of his body.

"You don't fight this close together," she said, raising an eyebrow. He merely grinned, and took another few steps to twirl them around. She loved the feel of the world spinning, but with her eyes on Tristan. _Fitting,_ she thought. Maybe love was like this.

Suddenly he stopped. He drew her close, and kissed her. She tasted the ale and some sort of fruit on his lips. She kissed him back even as she heard gasps from more than just their corner of friends. Her heart raced excitedly. Everyone knew for sure now. It would all be all right.

The music came to an end, and Tristan drew back. Before more than two notes were played in the next song, Bors was by their side.

"All right, enough," he said, grabbing Tristan by the back of his tunic. "C'mere, you sly bastard." Given the force behind Bors' meaty arms, Tristan had no choice, and quickly released Jaelynn so she wasn't pulled along.

She rolled her eyes. But Vanora and Lucinda quickly followed, and each took one arm and led her away.

"You have a lot to tell us!" Lucinda almost squealed. Vanora laughed, and Jaelynn went along with a glance back to Tristan.

-0-0-

Gawain eyed him suspiciously, apparently not bothered at all by how roughly Bors pushed Tristan to his seat. Tristan felt the tension from all of the knights, though Galahad had a smirk on his face. Arthur, however, bore a grave expression.

"You better not've bed her," Bors growled at him. Tristan rolled his eyes.

"You bedded Vanora when she was 15," he said back.

"He was only a few years older than her," Gawain brought up. The mistrust hadn't died down from his eyes. "You shouldn't toy with her that way."

Galahad was almost laughing. He had his hand conveniently over his mouth. Tristan glared at him.

"I'm not toying with her," Tristan said.

"You're old enough to be her father!" Bors roared. As if there wasn't enough attention directed at him before, there certainly was now from the whole tavern.

"Three months ago you were pushing me to go after her," Tristan said. He leaned forward in his seat, and shifted his challenging eyes to Gawain. "You would even court her."

Gawain looked around in a panic. "Lucinda could take that the wrong way, you idiot."

Tristan smirked at him.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Do you really care for her, Tristan?" he asked. "I think that is the concern of everyone here."

"Yeah, if you're just using her for your—" Bors started.

"Shut up," Tristan muttered. He shook his head to clear his hair to the side, and he didn't bother hiding how annoyed he was. Bors sat back a bit. "I'm not using her, I haven't bedded her, and I do care for her."

"She's not a child," Gawain stated, sounding very much like he was speaking to a fool. "You protect her, but is that all there is to your . . . relationship?"

Tristan shut his eyes. Maybe he was dreaming. He almost wanted to have another nightmare to make this one go away.

"You're not her father, Tristan," Bors said. Tristan shook his head—did the loud knight even realize how circuitous his arguments were? _Not even thinking, probably._

"Neither are you," he said.

"I know we teased you about her, Tristan, but it's just because we thought you'd suit," Gawain said.

Tristan frowned. "So do I."

Gawain shook his head. "Don't do this to make us happy, because it'll just hurt Jaelynn. If you really feel—"

Exasperated, Tristan snagged his dagger by the hilt, and slammed its point into the table.

"Shut up so I can answer!" he hissed. Astounded, the knights and king did. "I love her. I'm not sure how much or what will happen. Maybe I'll marry her." He couldn't resist a goading look to Bors at that. "Let _us_ decide."

He leaned back, leaving his dagger stuck in the middle of the table. The knights eyed it and Tristan, back and forth.

Slowly, Galahad started laughing. Tristan pointed a finger at him.

"You should have helped," he mumbled. Galahad shook his head.

"After you threatened me not to tell?"

"He threatened you?" Arthur asked, though not upset at all.

"I walked in on him and Jaelynn—"

"If you say anything other than kissing, I'll run him through," Bors said. Tristan snorted.

"You couldn't find the sharp end of the sword," he said. Arthur was the first to laugh, and with Gawain and Galahad joining in, Bors could not be angry. From across the tavern came Vanora, Lucinda and Jaelynn, each with a gleeful look on her face. Tristan nodded at Jaelynn, and she came to sit by him. Tristan pushed at Gawain so he'd move to make room.

She raised an eyebrow and glanced around the table.

"Is everything . . ." she started.

Tristan nodded. "You have many protectors." He shot a glare in each of the knight's directions.

"Jaelynn, you sure about this?" Bors asked. Tristan was well beyond tired of everyone doubting them, but he made himself stay still. She smiled sweetly, not with the innocence everyone was used to, but with a bit more confidence and maturity.

"I'm sure."

She settled against him. Tristan could smell her hair, and he noticed this time she had her comb in it as well. Briefly he closed his eyes and pulled her closer to him. They sat comfortably together, and as the awkwardness wore off, the knights, king and friends fell into their normal banter.

Tristan smiled.

-0-0-

a/n: No, not quite the end. I will include an epilogue. I apologize for the delay on this chapter. Craziness in my schedule didn't help. But let me know what you think! I will work on the epilogue to have up soon. Thanks!


	29. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Peace was addicting. After more than 8 months with no fights or concerns, Jaelynn felt as if nothing bad could happen. Life was an adjustment, of course. Gossip rose to new heights after she and Tristan were known as a couple. But it didn't bother her.

Jaelynn thought the gossip bothered Tristan at first, but it died off. Or rather, the gossip changed. People noticed Tristan more, partially because he wasn't scouting all the time now. He handled the news from his scouts, and the people understood he was trying to keep them all safe. At least, that's how Jaelynn saw it.

When Tristan and Jaelynn decided to marry, more gossip popped up, but Jaelynn saw it as envy. _Yes, even the orphaned girl and the assassin scout can find love_. The marriage was to take place in four days, after Tristan asked last week if she'd be interested in marrying him. _Leave it to him to make it so casual._ She had laughed, and answered affirmatively.

They would have wed already, but Vanora wanted her to wait so she could make a better gown for Jaelynn to wear. Jaelynn didn't really care, but if it made Vanora happy, she felt she should oblige.

She stood uncomfortably in Vanora's house, dressed in the gown, or most of it. The sleeves were a bit tricky.

The house was wonderful. As soon as spring came, Tristan, Gawain, Galahad and Arthur helped Bors rebuild the estate. It was right back where it had been before, outside the wall. Arthur had tried to convince him to build inside the Wall, but Bors, in his loud and raucous manner, said he should be safe if Tristan was doing his job.

Tristan had thrown a dagger by his head, and stated simply: "You're never fully safe."

"What are you thinking about?" Vanora asked. Jaelynn blinked. She refocused on standing straight; Vanora was prodding at a stitch in the dress.

"Nothing," she said. Vanora rolled her eyes.

"You're becoming like him," she mumbled. Jaelynn smiled.

"Like Tristan?"

Vanora nodded. "He's gotten a bit more talkative, but it's like you gave him your words to compensate. You know, you both can speak freely anytime. No one fines you."

Jaelynn laughed. "It just means I'm trying to listen more."

Vanora rolled her eyes and gave an exasperated sigh.

"I hate to think how much worse it'll get when you're married," she said. "You both will just nod at each other in your home and never say much of anything."

Jaelynn grinned to herself. It was a funny image, to be sure, but what no one else knew was how much she and Tristan really talked. Their time alone wasn't spent staring at each other in silence (although she overheard that as a rumor from the smithy's wife). They talked freely, about what was going on at the Wall, in the country, with each other, anything.

"I'm cooking a duck for him tonight," Jaelynn announced. The new topic made Vanora raise an eyebrow.

"You may want to wait till after you're married," the red-head said. "Unless you're trying to avoid the marriage, and just kill him off beforehand." Jaelynn glared at her friend.

"The last one wasn't so bad," she defended. "And besides, it's not as if I haven't improved. My bread is edible now."

Vanora mumbled something beneath her breath about bread and stones. Jaelynn sighed. _I _am_ getting better._ Tristan even told her so, and she knew he wasn't lying because he ate extra helpings now.

"At least you're trying," Vanora said, most likely to smooth things over. She stitched a pleat in the gown so that it clung closer to her frame. Jaelynn wasn't used to how close the dress would fit, but Vanora kept insisting it would look wonderful. Jaelynn suspected there was more to it than that, but didn't question her.

"Will this take much longer, Vanora?" she asked. "I should start on the duck soon."

Vanora stood, wiping her brow. She studied the dress for a moment.

"I think we're about there."

As much as Jaelynn appreciated the dress's beauty, she wasted no time leaving.

The duck lived another day. She was at Lucinda's to prepare everything when Tristan found her.

"Hi!" she greeted him. He smiled tightly, and came to her to give her a kiss. She loved it—just a little thing but a token of his love.

"How are you?" he asked—_another change in the man_. She shrugged.

"I'm well," she said, "Vanora's obsessed with the gown. I've told her it's just a dress but she insists."

He didn't answer. Jaelynn glanced his direction. His head was bowed slightly, but his eyes were on her.

"What?" she asked.

"Something's happened," he said. Jaelynn felt an onslaught of tension. "Ronin's horse came back today, without him." Her stomach felt like it dropped. Ronin was one of Tristan's scouts.

"What happened?" she asked. She swallowed hard. Tristan kept his voice even, and reached a hand out to hold hers. His thumb moved back and forth over her knuckles.

"There was a ship, coming our way. He saw it around the southern coast," Tristan explained. "He was tracking it."

"Is that the last you heard?" she asked. Tristan nodded. "So does that mean . . ."

Tristan shook his head. "Not sure." He hesitated. Instinctively, Jaelynn knew she wouldn't like whatever he'd say next. "I'm going east, towards the coast. We think the ship is there."

She closed her eyes. _No. _She knew this would happen eventually, but it didn't help now, so close to their marriage day and after she expected peace to continue.

"You're going after him," she filled in, opening her eyes. He nodded. "Why you?'

He tilted his head to the side without answering. Jaelynn sighed.

"How long do you think you'll be gone?" she asked. He shrugged.

"One week, maybe two. I have to leave soon." _Meaning in the next hour._

She nodded, but a pang hit her heart. The marriage would have to be postponed. Tristan mentioned it, and Jaelynn agreed, but that's not what bothered her now. Tristan was going into danger. It was a risk, and he was taking it because he probably felt responsible for Ronin's disappearance, maybe even his death, if he turned up so. That, or Tristan felt this was too important—he had to do it himself.

"Take someone with you," she said. In theory it was a request, but coming from her, she hoped he'd take it as more than a suggestion.

"I will," he said, and she felt a slight respite from her worry. "The knights and some others are coming. Lennor will scout with me."

She thought about what he'd said; he wouldn't be alone. Arthur, she noticed, wasn't mentioned, but he was king, and needed to stay out of harm's way for the stability of all the land. The knights would watch out for each other. _It will be all right._ She must not have appeared too happy still.

"I've been gone before," he said. Yes, he did scout from time to time.

"But not going into danger," she said back. Now he was tracking someone, a ship of men who possibly killed Ronin. Tristan stepped to her, and tilted her chin up gently to look her in the eyes.

"There's always danger."

She sighed. Of course he was right. But it didn't change how she felt. She shook her head.

"Just be careful."

With no further words, she hugged him hard and kissed him as if to make up for the days to come.

-0-0-

Tristan took Lennor with him, who had come to be his most trusted scout. Perhaps it was Lennor's participation in Tristan's rescue from the marauders, but Tristan found it easy to stand the man's presence. He liked all of his scouts, but Lennor had a way of not trying to curry favor with him. There was one or two who seemed frightened of him, and overcompensated with eager words and sometimes flattery. The scout they sought, Ronin, wasn't like this though. That almost urged Tristan and Lennor to hurry more.

The two men traveled in near silence. After a few days of traveling, they were within 10 miles of the east coast, and scouted ahead frequently from the knights' group. Gawain, Bors, Galahad and some able men rode a few hours behind.

Here, Tristan could feel a difference in the air, and it wasn't just the winds brought on by the sea. The birds were quiet. The trees creaked more as they moved in the breeze.

Tristan exchanged glances with Lennor.

They rode on, slowly and cautiously. Tristan held his bow in hand and one arrow. A few more miles closer to the coast, he stopped. Lennor pulled up on the reins of his horse too, and quickly dismounted.

Tristan held one hand up. Both men stood still, just listening. The leaves were rustling, but it was a different sound than from the wind. Tristan narrowed his eyes, glancing over the woods around them.

A shadow moved behind some trees. Tristan notched the arrow in place, aimed, and waited. The shadow cleared one of the trees, and suddenly an arrow came right at Tristan. His feet moved automatically, making him dodge the arrow, and in return, he released his.

The shadow fell, a man in strange clothing. He didn't cry out; Tristan's arrow hit him in the head.

Lennor frowned as he stood over the body, and Tristan looked over the man's clothing. It reminded him of sailors, when he went to Rome, but less formal or organized. There was a different feel to the clothes, something not Roman.

"Their scout," Lennor remarked quietly. Tristan gave one nod.

"They'll be at sea," he said. "They won't leave their ship behind." He glanced up at the sky. It was noon now. "Gather the knights."

"You shouldn't go alone," Lennor said, and he was rewarded with a blank look from Tristan.

"I'll find you later," he said. He cared more about Ronin, and hoped the man was alive still. He would have to find the ship.

Lennor went back the way they'd come, and Tristan pushed ahead. He kept his horse's pace a bit on the slow side. His ears were honed in on his surroundings. Glancing up at the sky, Tristan saw his hawk gliding over the tree tops. That brought him more confidence. He was getting closer, so he halted his horse. He tied it to the tree, and continued on foot.

His sword was attached to his back in its scabbard, and he added to his burden a quiver of arrows. He walked with his bow in hand.

Above him, his hawk chirped. It was a short, quick sound; someone was ahead. Tristan melded with the trees, quietly moving forward from trunk to trunk. The expanse of the sky was ahead and under it the sea. He heard voices.

He knelt by some brush. On the shore was a camp of men. Even though it was the middle of the day, they seemed to lounge about. Their clothes were tattered, and discipline as Tristan had seen on other ships was not enforced here. _Pirates, maybe?_ The flag that flew near the back of the ship was not of any land Tristan knew. That relieved him, somewhat.

A few of the men toyed with their swords, and Tristan saw a few others discussing something around a rock. On the rock was parchment of sorts. _A map,_ Tristan guessed.

He scanned the beach for Ronin. All the men seemed free and at their leisure—no prisoners. Frowning, he moved his gaze beyond, to the ship that was anchored about three hundred feet from shore. No one moved aboard its decks. _Are they all on shore?_ His gaze stopped on the mast.

Hanging from a cross beam on the mast was a body. Tristan clamped down hard on his tongue. He recognized the clothing and general appearance of the body.

_Ronin._ He was hanging by his neck, lightly swaying in the sea breeze.

Tristan looked away, bowing his head to the earth. He felt his heart clench painfully, and he felt the anger start to rise within him. He looked ahead at the men, his eyes blazing. He raised his bow and reached for an arrow.

-0-0-

Jaelynn's mind wasn't focused on her task. The poor girl she was treating probably noticed. She had a burn from cooking and whimpered, which temporarily drew Jaelynn to the now. As gently as possible, Jaelynn dabbed the wound with a soothing ointment to quell the burn and irritation. It wasn't a terrible wound, but Jaelynn knew burns were especially painful.

As she bandaged over the burn, Jaelynn felt her heart quicken its pace. She had to breathe through her mouth as a new onslaught of worry hit her.

_Tristan._

There was much they had yet to discover about each other. While she knew him better than anyone, she didn't know him completely. What she didn't know scared her.

She didn't know if he would still single himself out to face danger.

She knew he had before. She knew his penchant for trouble was incredible. The months of peace made her think it was a thing of the past, but Tristan did not fight much during those months.

Would he be all right? The other knights were with him, but that meant nothing for a scout. He would save the hardest parts of their mission for himself. The most danger he would take by himself.

_Please, no._ She bit on her lip to stem the worry that made her lip quiver. The girl before her eyed her curiously amidst her own pain. Jaelynn tried to smile, and tied off the bandage.

"There you are," she said. The girl finally gave a tear-stained smile back.

"Thank you," she said with a slight shake in her voice. She ran off to her mother, who was waiting on the chair by the door. The woman gave her thanks.

Jaelynn turned to clean the supplies she'd used. She hoped Ronin would be found all right, and that Tristan would have no need for battle.

She hoped, because she wanted her future husband to come back safely. She wanted the life ahead of them.

-0-0-

He shut his eyes.

No, he couldn't do this. Ronin deserved revenge, and these men were hardly good men. But he was outnumbered. A year ago he might have tried something anyway. He couldn't now. He wouldn't risk it, his life, so easily—especially since the knights weren't far behind him.

He would wait.

As he sat, his eyes burning into the men of the pirate ship, Tristan calmed himself by thinking about Jaelynn. _Be careful_. Her words echoed in his mind. He shut his eyes with a long sigh. He didn't want to get hurt—he never craved pain—but even less so because if Jaelynn saw, she would worry indefinitely. She saw him in enough torment over the years. The first time they met was centered around such pain. He would do all he could; Tristan never saw himself shirking a fight called for by his duty and honor. But he would try to make such fights more cautious and planned.

Laughter from the shore drew his attention. Four men were pointing to the sky. Looking to where they pointed, Tristan saw his hawk.

He tensed. _What is she doing?_ She circled over the men, and of all things seemed to enjoy the breeze. Her wings carried her like a leaf, and she just floated in the sky. Tristan saw the four men pick up bows. Their laughter seemed drunken from where Tristan hid, but could he rely on that to spoil their skill? With four arrows aimed at his bird, Tristan hissed in frustration and grabbed four of his own arrows.

He pulled back the string hard, eyeing the arrows to make sure all were notched on properly. Quickly he aimed at the sailors, even as he saw them move about to aim better at their moving target. With their bow strings pulled back, Tristan couldn't delay further.

He unleashed the arrows.

Two hit their marks, and their fall threw off the other men's aim. Tristan heard his hawk cry out, and she quickly flew away from the ship and the men. He sighed in relief and turned his full attention to the shore.

The pirates scrambled for their weapons. They looked to the trees. Tristan kept himself hidden and ran to the right. He stopped there and fired two arrows separately. Both struck their intended targets.

His object in changing positions was to make it seem like there was more than just him out in the forest. Tristan ran again further to the right, and picked out another pirate to kill. His shots were quick, and the sudden start and stop of them made the pirates hunker down behind their supplies and whatever cover they could find.

Their eyes were all upon the treeline, watching, searching. Tristan stilled as he studied them. A few had their swords drawn, and others had arrows ready. One man fired a shot near Tristan, but from the distance the arrow was from him, he gathered that the sailor was firing blindly.

He moved carefully back to the center of the area, facing the men. He notched four more arrows and pulled hard with his shoulder to get the proper distance. He let the arrows fly. The pirates yelled out in surprise, some of them screaming. Tristan grinned.

But his shots gave away his position. He took cover behind a thick tree, seconds later to hear and see a slew of arrows passing by him. His game couldn't last forever. He glanced past the tree to the shore again. The pirates were getting bolder, and a group of ten ran towards him and the forest. He quickly counted how many men were left—about thirty—and ran back the way he'd come into the depths of the trees.

He heard the men shouting after him. They did not see him yet; arrows came randomly through the trees, some far from him. One hit a tree he passed, at the height of his head. He ducked and changed direction.

A good thing about running away was that you didn't have to be too careful. He knew he was ahead of the pirates, and they didn't know where he was exactly or if he was waiting to slay them. Because of this, he distanced himself from the pirates. He could still hear them shouting, but they were at least a few minutes behind him.

He stopped and turned towards his pursuers's shouts as a thought hit him. If he kept running, he would only succeed in fanning out the enemy, and that made it less predictable to hunt them later. He didn't want to draw them towards the knights without his brothers-in-arms knowing what was coming. He frowned.

Tristan needed to hold them off. He sighed, and started to climb a tree. He grunted a bit from the effort as he pulled himself to a sturdy branch, and then reached higher. The early fall season already made the leaves brittle, and they fell easily. Many branches were becoming bare. Tristan found his spot high up in the tree, where he was out of sight.

He drew an arrow, notched it, and waited. The afternoon light was bright, and Tristan had to squint as it filtered through the trees and hit his eyes. He glanced right and left, waiting for the men to show up.

Suddenly he heard movement behind him. His breath caught in his throat. He twisted around to face back, aimed at the only figure he saw, and—

_Lennor!_

His fingers released the arrow before he could stop himself. He jerked his arms at the last second, and the arrow hurtled towards Lennor. The scout's eyes were wide, maybe more so when the arrow hit through the man's sleeve and then a tree.

Tristan shut his eyes with a sigh. When he reopened them, Lennor was glaring at him.

"Sorry," he muttered, but Lennor merely nodded. He turned around, and waved. Soon Tristan saw the knights. Before he could greet them, he heard something else.

Whipping around again from his spot in the tree, he immediately saw the pirates. They shouted out alarm, and started to retreat. Tristan fired the arrow in hand and felled one man. He reached for another arrow.

Below him, Gawain rode by, brandishing his sword. Bors yelled out his war cry, and led the men against the pirates. Galahad waited by the tree Tristan was in, and Tristan quickly climbed down. Galahad had Tristan's horse by his, the reins in hand to give over. Tristan nodded, some acknowledgement and thanks.

"I'm surprised you didn't take them all by yourself already," Galahad remarked. Tristan spurred his horse forward; the two knights galloped ahead.

"Thought about it," Tristan said. He heard the young knight chuckle.

"Ronin?" Galahad asked as they rode to catch up to their prey. Tristan just shook his head.

They made it to the shore. The knights and the men of the Wall fought against the pirates. There were a total of 20 men against the pirates' greater number, but Tristan quickly saw skill favored the knights. The pirates scattered in panic.

Tristan rode by one, unsheathing his sword with one powerful arc that freed the man's head from his body. He noticed Galahad to his side still. The knight was looking over the fallen bodies.

"Arrows," he commented. He raised an eyebrow at Tristan and grinned. "You didn't wait, did you?"

Tristan grunted, and dismounted. His feet dug into the sandy shore, which threw him off for a second. A pirate came at him, screaming. Tristan ducked beneath his wide swing, and thrust his sword in the man's chest. The man fell with a garbled moan.

Out in the sea was a small boat, just two men rowing back to the ship. Tristan noticed they were the same men he'd seen looking over the map before. _The captain._ The man who probably had Ronin killed.

Tristan ran towards the shore. Another pirate tried to block him. Tristan parried his strikes. Suddenly there was a swirl of sand in the air—the pirate kicked sand at Tristan's face. The tiny grains got in his eyes, and Tristan felt a moment of panic. His eyes watered and he tried to see but the discomfort made his eyes shut to contain the damage. He heard the pirate laugh, and then a sharp intake of breath.

_He's attacking._

On instinct only, Tristan held up his sword to block what felt like a downward blow. He stepped forward, digging his heels into the sand, and turned to add more power behind his swing. His blade met resistance, and he heard the lighter plop of a body hitting the soft sand.

Tristan wiped at his eyes, finally venturing a look ahead of him. The captain and the other man were half way to the ship. In a few minutes, they would be aboard the ship. Tristan didn't want them to escape. His bow was with his horse. He had only his sword.

That would do.

With a glance around, he searched out Lennor. His eyes met his scout's.

"Cover me!" he shouted. Lennor nodded, and grabbed his bow. With that, Tristan ran full speed at the water. He sheathed his sword, and as soon as he felt the water was deep enough, he dove head-first into the waves. The waves pushed him towards shore, but Tristan swam beneath the surface and closer to the boat.

The captain spotted him. As soon as he surfaced, Tristan saw the man pointing at him. The other man with him fingered a dagger. Suddenly an arrow hissed by him, and Tristan saw the arrow hit that man. He glanced back to Lennor, who gave a friendly salute.

Tristan swam to the rowboat. Each stroke put himself closer, despite the captain's attempts to row and race to the ship. The salt water stung at Tristan's eyes, and his hair didn't help; it seemed to direct the seawater there. He swam forward with his body at the surface, shaking his head free of some water. He was tiring a bit, and the water was deep here. He couldn't feel the bottom, nor see it.

Suddenly there was a splash right in front of him by the rowboat. Tristan pulled back just as the captain held up the oar and aimed to smash it over him again. The captain tried it repeatedly. Tristan let himself fall beneath the water. Thought it hurt his eyes, he opened them beneath the water to see where he could go. He swam under the boat, and came up on the other side.

The captain quickly changed sides, and slammed the oar at Tristan. Sputtering from his emergence, Tristan tried to tread water and dodge the strikes. He saw the oar coming at him again. He didn't move fast enough.

The oar glanced off his forehead. He felt a sharp pain but his head immediately dulled. He shook it, focusing on the captain who eagerly swung at him again. Tristan caught the next strike, and yanked the oar from the man's hands. Quickly the captain grabbed the other oar.

Tristan deflected it with his hand, even though it hurt, and jabbed the end of his oar into the captain's stomach. He was thrown off balance, and Tristan used the moment to take both oars and toss them out of reach. They splashed lightly in the water behind him.

Something dripped off his brow. Tristan ran a hand over his face, and he noticed his hand had blood on it. He scowled and did it again. His head was bleeding. Annoyed, Tristan swam for the boat again.

The captain jumped off it, diving perfectly into the water. He quickly swam for his ship, and Tristan hurried after him. _What a coward_, Tristan thought. For a captain, or any leader, to run like this . . . especially while his men were being slaughtered on the beach. . . . Tristan's head started to pound. He ignored it the best he could.

He was just a few feet from the captain, and the man knew it. He turned, and instead of the previous panic in his eyes, there was rage. The man snarled, and plunged himself towards Tristan. Tristan caught him, but their weights made them submerge beneath the water.

Air bubbles tickled his face, and Tristan fought to control the struggling captain. He imagined the man thought he could best him. Tristan felt something hit him. The captain wriggled wildly about. Tristan grasped at the man, snagging his waist. The captain kneed him in the chest, and Tristan felt his breath escape. Water filled his mouth before he could recover.

He cringed; the lack of air was pressuring him, but he didn't release the captain. Instead, he pulled him down, stroking through the dark water to get them deeper. The captain's struggles were increasingly wild, but uncontrolled.

His chest hurt, burning as if there was plenty of air fueling a fire within him. But he wouldn't let go. _Not yet._ Through the salt water, Tristan watched. The captain gave a little kick. His body stilled. Tristan still waited. His head was hurting more, pressure from the lack of air. But he waited, as the captain gave one last jerk. His head bobbed with the underwater current; the man was completely relaxed—he was dead.

Tristan released him and pulled against the water to bring himself to the surface. The light drew closer, the air sweetly above him. He broke the surface with a loud gasp to fill his lungs. In his haste to refill them, he got water too, and he coughed hard to expel it. His chest heaved in a drastic rhythm, but he was calming down. He weaved his arms back and forth in the water, keeping himself afloat.

The battle was over, judging by the calmness on the shore. The knights were finishing up. He noticed Lennor was watching him. Tristan nodded in his direction, and turned to face the ship, just a little further away.

He swam to it, taking his time now. Luckily the ship was closer than shore. He didn't have much more energy to swim back right now.

Behind him he heard Lennor call to Gawain. The men were swimming towards the ship too. Tristan reached it and noticed boards nailed to the hull like vertical steps. He used them to climb. It was a bit different than a tree, but he managed.

The deck was quiet. With water dripping from his body and his armor, Tristan unsheathed his sword. _Just in case._ He didn't know who else might be aboard, if anyone.

Something moved by the stairs to a lower deck. Tristan stepped to the side, on the defensive. He held his blade up, ready to deflect and attack. A whimper reached his ears. He frowned, and drew closer to the stairs.

"Shh, shh," he heard. Another whimper.

"Come out," he said, his voice gruff but even. Someone whimpered again. _A woman? _"Show yourself." He tried to soften his tone that time, but he doubted it worked.

But slowly, a figure came forward. It was a boy, maybe 10 years old. Behind him was a small girl. Her features were undefined, encased in the soft fat Tristan saw on babies. _She can't be more than 6!_

They were dressed in rags. Their hands were dirty, and judging by the boy's leanness, not well kept. _Servants_, Tristan guessed. He frowned harder.

"Who are you?" he asked. The little girl shrunk back while the boy squared his shoulders.

"Where is our uncle?" the boy asked.

"Who's your uncle?" Tristan asked back.

"The captain."

Tristan should have guessed. "Dead." For a moment, he saw surprise on the children's faces. The girl looked especially worried, glancing to her brother for guidance. Tristan expected tears and anger to follow.

But instead, the boy sighed, almost doubling over in his relief. Tristan heard him whisper.

"Thank you."

He blinked.

There was more to this than he thought.

He waited for Gawain and Lennor to come aboard. They dragged the rowboat with them. The children seemed to respond easier to Gawain, and soon they explained their circumstances.

The captain was indeed their uncle. But they hardly missed him, since the uncle was quite the taskmaster, and unscrupulous. Tristan felt sorry for them. Their parents, they told Gawain, died and with no one else to care for them, the uncle took them in.

"Not a good man," Gawain mumbled. "Making his own niece and nephew serve him."

"On a pirate ship, no less," Lennor added.

Tristan nodded. "Arthur will make sure they're taken care of."

"Should I take them to shore?" Lennor asked. Tristan glanced at Gawain, and nodded. The British scout led the children to the side of the ship, below which was the rowboat.

Tristan turned to the main mast. He released a long, quiet breath. Ronin's body looked worse from here, and he knew it would only worsen the closer he got. Without a word to Gawain, Tristan began to climb the main mast and its nets.

The wind whipped by him, and he shivered despite the sunlight shining on him. Droplets of seawater flew off him. He looked above him. Ronin's body was two thirds of the way up the mast, secured on a cross beam. Tristan stopped at that beam.

He'd seen his share of bodies. He'd killed some, and buried others. Past knights that died, like Dagonet . . . death left little that was pleasant. Staring at Ronin, Tristan knew he'd been dead for about two days, but not more. There were marks on the man's face, bruises._ He was held captive for days, and beaten._

The body stank, but Tristan expected it. Regardless, he held to the nets around the mast, and leaned out to the body. He had enough room from the rope holding Ronin to swing the body to the mast, where Tristan held it in place. It was awkward, but he managed. He cut through the rope around Ronin's neck. The full weight of the body hit him. Tristan grasped the ropes tight, steadying himself. He took a step down, and carefully grabbed the body about the legs. He held it over his shoulder, again ignoring the smell. Carefully, he descended from the mast.

Gawain had a large piece of burlap laid out on the deck. He gently assisted, guiding the weight off Tristan's shoulder as he knelt over the burlap. Together, the knights laid the body in the center of the cloth. They brought in the sides of the cloth, wrapping Ronin's body.

"He was younger than Galahad," Gawain said quietly. Tristan knew that. He was trying to figure out how Ronin's mother would act. She was all the family left; Ronin had no wife or lover. The mother already knew her son was missing, but death was something most people put as a last resort. She hoped Tristan would find him, alive.

He pulled the cloth to cover Ronin's face and sat back as Gawain tied some string around the cloth to keep it in place.

"Lennor's coming back with the boat," Gawain said. "Come—we'll carry him down." He meant Ronin. He stood, and poised himself to pick up Ronin's body at one end. Tristan shook his head.

"I'll carry him."

Gawain made to object, but Tristan didn't look at him. He glanced to see where Lennor was, just drifting to the ship now, and knelt by the body. He grasped Ronin about the torso, and lifted him up enough to pull the body towards him. The weight hit him over the shoulder. Bracing himself, Tristan stood, his knees wobbling a bit. Gawain outstretched a hand to steady him, but there was no need.

With cautious steps, he went to the ship's edge, where those wooden planked steps were. Gawain tied off a rope to the mast and fed it down the side of the ship. Tristan nodded once; it would help him descend.

The strain was great on his body, but Tristan swallowed the effort and climbed down to the boat. Lennor and Gawain exchanged looks, but silently let Tristan do it.

They reached the shore, and Tristan tried to ignore Galahad and Bors' staring. Tristan stepped out of the little boat into shallow water, with Ronin's body still hoisted over his shoulder. He met the quiet stares of his brothers-in-arms.

They looked to the ground, a sign of respect, Tristan guessed. Ronin certainly deserved it.

"What should we do about the ship?" Bors asked.

Tristan found himself abandoning that decision. He sought out his horse, and heard Lennor's footsteps following him. The scout helped him load the body on the horse's back. There weren't any spare horses, and luckily so since they lost no men in the fight—_except Ronin._ Tristan figured he'd ride with one of the knights or Lennor, or walk some of the way on foot.

He laid a hand over Ronin's back, staring at the burlap-covered form. A soft, tired sigh escaped Tristan's lips.

He glanced to the sky, where his hawk was happily gliding again.

_Time to go home._

-0-0-

_One week, maybe two._ That's what Tristan had said. He probably assumed two weeks if they had to travel further. Or, as Jaelynn suspected, it meant they would encounter trouble.

It had been 9 days. They had to have met danger.

Was Tristan all right? She prayed he wasn't hurt, or captured, or . . . . Her daily tasks left little comfort, for as she cooked, prepared ointments, aided Hilden, and stood in her wedding gown, her thoughts easily turned to Tristan. Her mind conjured up the most perilous circumstances, some of them not even as far-fetched as ones Tristan actually got caught up in. How easy would it be to fall by an arrow? Or be clubbed in the head, and never wake?

It was driving her mad. Was she doomed to feel this way, every time he went out? Just because he acted as Arthur's advisor now didn't mean he would pass opportunities to scout or confront danger. His body was already littered with scars from injuries.

_How many more can he take before he gets killed?_

She shuddered as she thought how awful that would be. Her heart wrenched, thinking about Ronin. His horse came back without its master—what if Tristan's came too? Maybe not now, on this trip, but months or years down the road?

_Can you live with that?_ she asked herself.

She bowed her head as she walked along the Wall, looking out over the land. Night was falling, and with it a light, humid mist. It was warm, pleasant even, but the air would cool overnight. _Another night in the cold_, she thought, picturing Tristan and the knights hunkered around a tiny campfire.

_He'll come back_.

_And if he doesn't?_ She would regret not marrying him, even just moments before he had to leave to find Ronin.

Her breath caught in her throat. In the distance in the waning light, several specks came over the land. Horses, and men.

Her heart beat fast. _It is him._ Her face exploded with a grin, and she felt a surge of happiness run through her. But it quickly subsided.

_This is what it will be like every time he comes home. Waiting, wondering, rejoicing. _

_Mourning?_

She bowed her head again, her eyes seeing nothing but the stone of the wall. She shut out her thoughts and worries. Her ears just listened to the relative quiet, and a feeling came upon her in the solitude. It was one of peace.

Yes, she would always worry. Glancing up at the approaching men, she knew she would always wait here on the wall for her knight to return. And she would always love him. No matter what dangers he faced, she would be there to heal him if necessary, or calm him when memories of the latest battle assailed him.

She would be there in the night to comfort him into peaceful slumber when the past hurt him in his dreams.

Her brown eyes glanced over the land, gauging the men's speed. They would arrive in ten minutes, she guessed. A smile won over her face, and Jaelynn had to move. She ran from the wall, with one resolution in mind:

She couldn't count on constant peace and steadiness in life, but she wouldn't pass up even a day with Tristan. He was nearly her husband, and regardless of the dangers they faced, she and Tristan would get through it.

Tristan rode full-gallop through the gates, and immediately he spotted her. She stood still, grinning, watching as he came right at her, and nearly made the horse he rode skid to a stop just a few feet in front of her. He dismounted with vibrant energy, though his face betrayed more than just excitement—maybe it was sorrow. Quickly she glanced and saw a horse carrying a body among the knights and men. Her brow furrowed sadly. Ronin was dead.

But Tristan was home, and he eliminated the few paces between them to kiss her. His arms wrapped fiercely around her, and there was fervor behind his kiss that she didn't usually feel if he showed any affection in public. She kissed him back and held him close to her. She felt him relax in her arms and she smiled.

When he pulled back, she gave him a peck on the forehead.

"I'm glad you're back," she said. He gave her a slightly crooked grin.

"Me too."

From behind him, Gawain led his horse forward.

"Tristan," he called. Her knight turned, and must have known what Gawain wanted, for he simply nodded. He shot Jaelynn a look, and turned to lead the horse bearing Ronin's body.

Jaelynn stepped back so he could pass, but then walked respectfully alongside the body. The other knights followed. Ahead of them was Ronin's mother.

She was crying, but there were no uncontrolled sobs. The woman knew this was a likely fate for her son. Through her tear-filled eyes, she watched Tristan lead the body towards her. Jaelynn saw Tristan's body stiffen the closer he drew to the woman.

He stopped in front of her, dropping the reins of the horse. Tristan's eyes were on the ground momentarily, but he looked up to face the mother.

"I'm sorry," Jaelynn heard from where she stood. At these words, the woman lost her control, and the wails started. It wrenched Jaelynn's heart, but she stood where she was. Ronin's mother leaned forward, grasping Tristan by his armor as if to find some support there. Tristan held her up, and eventually the woman turned her face into his chest. The wails became muffled.

Jaelynn knew that Tristan wasn't close with the woman. He liked Ronin—he was a great scout—but Tristan didn't take it upon himself to come to know all the families of the men he worked with. Even so, he gently patted the woman on the back. To her side, Gawain was glancing around, a bit bewildered by Tristan's actions.

The mother drew back, and attempted a smile.

"Thank you," she said so softly that Jaelynn found herself leaning forward to hear. "For bringing him back." She wiped at her eyes. "He said you were a good man. He was right."

Jaelynn felt her heart constrict more. Hadn't she just complained to herself days ago about Tristan leaving? Wondering why he had to go when there were others?

She thought she had understood before, in theory. Now she saw it in action. This was why he left, and why Jaelynn wouldn't ask him to stay away from danger. This was his duty. His honor. Without that, she took away what made him who he was.

A townswoman came to Ronin's mother's side, and helped lead her back to her home. Lennor was by the horse and body now, and muttered something about taking care of preparing Ronin for burial.

There were more townspeople around them; they'd all seen the homecoming, as grievous as it was. But they dismissed now, going on their ways to turn back home for the evening. Jaelynn caught their whispers, and smiled at the respect that laced the words she heard.

It was coming together now. For them all. They deserved it—the knights, Arthur, the people. Hadn't they worked together for this life? And they would still, standing together and fighting together to protect life—to protect happiness.

To protect freedom.

And each other.

Beside Jaelynn, Gawain plopped down from his horse. He sighed loudly, tiredly. But on his face was a goofy smile.

"So," he asked, nearly shouting, "are you and Tristan getting married today?"

She blinked. It wasn't the first thing on her mind. At Gawain's words, Galahad, Bors and Lennor cheered.

"It's about time!" Galahad said. Jaelynn rolled her eyes, and turned to her future husband.

Tristan smiled mischievously, and raised an eyebrow.

"Want to?"

-0-0-

a/n: And so it ends. I hope you forgive how long this is, and how long it took to write. I had most of it done, but I lacked the finishing touch. I finally got around to it today. Thanks for your patience. And thank you for reading this story. I hope you find this epilogue enjoyable, a glimpse at life that's not meant to detract from the rest of the story. If not, well, I hope you liked it a little. Thank you for your reviews and kind comments and suggestions. They were helpful and made this very fun for me.

Thanks again!


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